


Music is My Universal Sign

by HQ_Wingster (orphan_account)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha Victor Nikiforov, Alpha/Beta, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Orchestra, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Beta Yuuri Katsuki, Deaf Character, Deaf Yuuri Katsuki, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Real Events, Multi, Musical Instruments, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omegaverse, Pretty much I wanted to do some sort of twist to the usual Omegaverse, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 19:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 96,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10041701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HQ_Wingster
Summary: Love was a complex theme. Love could mean not giving up and never letting someone down. Love could mean friendship and affections. Love could symbolize adventure and a new experiences that enriched your life. Love was the feather on Freedom’s Wings that allowed people to follow their dreams and to not hold back. Love was protection and care against the harshest elements of Life.Love was the passionate kite runner that either disappeared in an instant or lasted forever. Love was being close to someone and sharing your imperfections and flaws without a judgmental glance. Love was the beating heart that helped heal a stitched heart when it didn’t believe in itself.In Regards to Life, that was Love.*a non-traditional omegaverse that is about as close to real life as a fic could get*Under Extreme Proof-Reading





	1. Prelude to Katsuki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edit: July 26th, 2017

Viktor Nikiforov was never one to dull a surprise. When a surprise came, it came with motion, with spirit, and with the full ferocity of orchestrated strings and winds. As soon as those nimble fingers glided down the piano keys, the audience was at the edge of its seat. Thunderous applause and lightning reflexes came with age, and wine usually tasted a little sweeter, a little richer with the coming of age. Coordinated movements, eagle vision, and a whirlwind of flipped music sheets swept past the Yamaha piano on center stage. Viktor leaned into the piece, chipping into every dynamic that gave the composition its dash of flavor.

An explosion of keys as Viktor’s fingers pounced from one end of the piano to the other. The poor piano buckled under its legs, gazing up at its maestro while a sleeve slipped and exposed a rich ebony shoulder. A waltz of passion spilling between the notes and rhythms that only a musician could have with their instrument. Perhaps, a leisurely tango at the composition’s climax, or perhaps a dip with a kiss. Cherishing what one wanted to hold.  _ Forever,  _ if need be.

A trickling tremolo was all that was left before Viktor tipped his head back. Sweat falling between his hair and neck after the dance had ended.

A standing ovation. Viktor took centre-stage and basked under his applause. His ponytail had come undone during the performance, and his silky bangs tickled his nose with each bow until he walked offstage with dozens of bouquets. Yakov,  _ with his crossed arms, _ kept his comments brief as he gathered Viktor’s sweet tokens. Pride was high on Yakov’s brow, but he kept a stern face. Better to give treats on a rare occasion than spoil a learning puppy. But then again, Viktor wasn’t a puppy anymore. Onstage, he was a pack leader that dominated the piano realm. No,  _ the music realm. _

To inflate a young alpha’s ego was a curse, and humility was a virtue for any age.

While the world remembered a promising young alpha, a smaller portion remembered Viktor because of his eyes. In a small touristy town near the coast of Japan, a little violist huddled with his knees pressed against his chest. His eyes never left the television screen,  _ even for just a moment. _ His nails dug into his kneecaps as the international, broadcasting channel replayed certain scenes during Viktor Nikiforov’s performance.

Those fingers! A mere blur captured in high definition, 4K quality for extra dull eyes. Yuuri gnawed on his thumbnail.

Look at how Viktor’s clothes wrinkle and fold as he play! Something simple as that mesmerized Yuuri. The flexing of clothes and the little head flicks Viktor did to keep his ponytail in check were in rhythm with the flowery composition. Viktor’s eyes sparked under the stage lights. Those eyes fell through fifty shades as a mellow, rich phrase soared over Viktor’s shoulders and tingled down to his fingertips. Like he was angel onstage, and Yuuri saw Viktor’s wings spread across the piano. Keeping in harmony with the fanciful instrument.

_ I could play like that.  _ Yuuri’s fingers tapped across his knees, imitating Viktor’s playing style.  _ I can play like that.  _ Stumbling off the couch, Yuuri tripped and collided with corners and walls as he made it to his room. His rosy viola case perked up and squealed when Yuuri grabbed it. Opening the case, Yuuri pulled out his instrument and bow and started playing. His bow slipped on and off across four strings while his fingers ran up and down the bridge.

Choppy movements, smooth bow strokes, and the occasional hook and slur unlocked Yuuri’s mind. He could do this. He  _ can  _ do this. He imagined himself on the very same stage that Viktor was on. Yuuri could see himself, playing lustrous pieces and stunning solos for the entire world to hear. Yuuri could see it all, even though he knew that he couldn’t hear a single note of it.

Hovering outside Yuuri’s bedroom window, Mari retracted her hand from the door knob and simply leaned against the door frame to listen to her baby brother play. Listening to a tiny fledgling peep and flap its wings, even though it could never fly.

* * *

 

In a pure alpha household, Mari and her parents had to accept that Yuuri was a little  _ different  _ from them. He had the reflex and fury of an alpha if need be, but he had the tenderness of an omega if he cared to be. It didn’t help that he grew up with a soft frame, but Yuuri soon toughened up naturally as an alpha-ish build started to take over as he neared his tenth birthday.

What never changed was his sweet demeanor and his snappy tongue when provoked.

But during those years, Mari used to cross her arms whenever she saw Yuuri come home from school. She analyzed her brother. How did Yuuri carry himself? Shoulders back and chest forward? Hunched over while twiddling his thumbs? Or perhaps, was Yuuri simply walking with an extra spring to his step, admiring all the sights around him. Mari always feared that her brother would grow into an omega. The fear never left, even after Yuuri was confirmed as a beta after his ‘turning’.

In actuality, Yuuri’s ‘turning’ was pretty tame.

He didn’t sprout ten inches during the night. The ‘turning’ was rather peaceful, and Mari pressed her ear by her little brother’s door, hoping to hear some kind of sign. A whimper? Growling? Nothing. Mari opened the door just a bit and saw a sleeping Yuuri with drool hanging out of his mouth as he gnawed on his pillow. Yuuri was twelve when he ‘turned’. And when the little Katsuki woke up, nothing about him changed. Albeit, he was a little more responsible but other than that, he was the same Yuuri.

During his yearly check-up, the Katsukis discovered that their Yuuri had inherited a recessive gene. A gene that made him a beta, through and through. Mari was dumbfounded and had to explain her behavior through sign language when Yuuri questioned her about it. Hiroko and Toshiya Katsuki took the news far better than what the doctor expected. After an hour long discussion and after looking through multiple charts and papers, the Katsuki family returned home and things went back to normal.

Yuuri may’ve been a beta, but he was still a Katsuki. Yuuri was family, and nothing was going to change that. Even when he was a beta and deaf.

Why hand a musical instrument to a boy, who could never hear it sing? Hiroko and Toshiya believed in miracles. Simple as that. If their bundle of joy had a one out of a thousandth chance of being the person he was today, the two were willing to see how far Yuuri could go if he picked up something that gave him joy.

For Yuuri, his greatest joy was the  _ pitter patter  _ of music. Even though he couldn’t hear it, he felt the music through his body. Minako helped him discover that. As a ballet instructor, Minako taught Yuuri how to feel a song’s rhythm through movements and gestures. The afternoon dance lessons toughened the little Katsuki, and his childhood softness leaned back to expose growing muscles and a strength that Yuuri never thought he had. Eventually, he started experimenting with music and dance. Seeing how a famous YouTuber could do it, Yuuri was determined to follow in those same footsteps. He had a general idea, and he knew a few songs. Why not add a dance with them?

In the small world of Hasetsu, Yuuri could do as he pleased without anyone’s judgement.

* * *

 

As Yuuri grew older and stretched his wings, he saw how gridlocked the world was about dynamics. Everywhere he turned, he saw signs prohibiting alphas from certain locations. Or, he would browse down an aisle at the market and see scent-concealing products for omegas. The world ran on scents, and Yuuri had one of the best sniffers in the world.  _ Well _ , in the Hasetsu world. In the  _ real  _ world, Yuuri was just an average Joe. With only a handful of betas in the world, Yuuri really did feel alone.

Alpha or omega?  _ Choose. _

Most sided with alpha since his household was purely alpha. Others sided that he was an omega because of his meek nature, general courtesy, and sweet disposition. What both groups agreed on was that Yuuri was simply a late-bloomer.

_ “You’ll find out where you belong soon. Just wait. These things take time.”  _ Someone told him. Yuuri was in college at the time. At Juilliard. While Yuuri was a junior and while his companion,  _ Phichit Chulanont,  _ was a freshman violist.  _ “My family didn’t know what I was until I was sixteen.” _

Phichit said all of this in sign-language, of course. American sign-language. Another topic of discussion: the horror of your music professor finding out that you were a hundred percent deaf. Yuuri got away with it for a few months when he first started. He had classmates that were willing to help him understand what was going on. But after a while, the professor became suspicious when Yuuri couldn’t participate in the class discussions.

Cue, the school searching for an interpreter for Yuuri. Cue, said interpreter following him around the Juilliard campus for the next three years.

Honestly, Yuuri wouldn’t mind having Phichit as his interpreter instead. Not only was the freshman kind of crazy, Phichit and Yuuri piggybacked ideas off of each other during their break sessions between classes. Yuuri may’ve been bias, but it would’ve been neat to have an interpreter that could understand him  _ more  _ than just through signs and occasional napkin-notes. Not to mention, Phichit was a pretty good counselor when the the older violist needed it the most.

* * *

 

_ “Are you going to continue being a violist?”  _ Phichit asked him one day. By then, he was a sophomore. Yuuri was a senior. Just two months shy from graduation.

_ “I don’t know.”  _ Yuuri chewed the tip of his pencil’s eraser. His hands grew hesitant, but he managed somehow.  _ “I still want to perform, but I don’t think I’m good enough.” _

__ Phichit wasn’t shy when he called Yuuri out/

__ _ “The fact that you got accepted into Juilliard means that you’re more than good enough.”  _ Phichit reached his arm over and around Yuuri’s shoulder, a firm pat of confidence to boost the spirits.  _ “Believe in yourself, buddy. You’re really good. Trust me.”  _

If a single smile could make someone happy, one of Phichit’s smiles could send Yuuri to the moon and back in no time. And although Phichit didn’t sign or say it, Yuuri could sense the hidden message behind his friend’s words.

**_“You’re gonna make history one day.”_ **

* * *

 

That was any musician's dream. Having the entire world chant your name until the end of time. Wasn’t that a bliss? In the tiny world of Juilliard, you could say stuff like that and mean it. No strings attached, no feelings were hurt when dreams didn’t happen. You just got up and tried again, with supportive friends and teachers at your side while you pursued bigger things beyond from what you knew.

When Yuuri returned to Japan after graduation, his first dream was to play in an orchestra. And when the time came, his second dream was to play on the same stage as his idol and inspiration,  _ Viktor Nikiforov. _

After thirteen years, Yuuri never forgot the breathtaking solo that he witnessed on TV, all those years ago. With every year since, Viktor brought something new to the music realm. He always brought another challenge, and Yuuri was finally strong enough to accept one. With the best wishes from his family and friends, Yuuri traveled across Europe and North America. Participating in concerts and competitions and all seemed well.

Yuuri made a name for himself. He made his family and hometown proud. Nothing could describe the ecstasy welling up in Yuuri’s heart when he stepped under a stage light and felt his viola sing. For formality sake, Yuuri couldn’t dance or shuffle around like he wanted to. Planted firmly like a tree, he had to muster all of his emotions through facial expressions and tone. But even so, he occasionally swayed along with a song if it was slow and gentle enough.

Again, people wondered about his dynamic. Whatever label people threw at him, Yuuri simply ignored it and continued to strive towards his dreams. At the age of twenty two and a quarter, Yuuri was invited to be the principal violist for an orchestra in Moscow. Live on TV, the proudly dressed orchestra shuffled to its spot and waited for orders from the conductor. Yuuri sat in the lead, an army of violas situated behind him.

At the piano was Viktor.

Yuuri tensed up.  _ Why’s he here? _

In all of the afternoon practices that Yuuri had gone to, he had never seen Viktor in any of them! Was Viktor a guest? Did he practice? Yuuri tried to scribble a note to his stand partner, but the conductor cleared her throat and motioned for Yuuri to get ready. The violist twitched. Viktor was here. Viktor was going to hear him play. Yuuri had a solo, and Viktor was going to serenade him on the piano.

Yuuri was stiff as a rock. Even with glasses, he couldn’t see the notes in front of him. He became all too aware of the different scents that were mingled around him. The high, peach aroma from his stand partner, the musky scent of the conductor, the vicious cycle of competing smells that bled from the back and into Yuuri’s nose, and Viktor’s powerful scent shook a few screws out from the principal violist’s head.

Someone nudged Yuuri. He started playing. Where was he? Where was the group? Was he too fast? Too slow? Wrong key?  _ Definitely  _ wrong key. For the first time in her career, the conductor stopped the orchestra to retry its entrance into the piece. Yuuri was mortified.

_ Relax. You can do this. _

But again, Yuuri tensed up and his first few notes came out like squawks. The conductor challenged her gaze with Yuuri’s when she stopped the orchestra for a second time. Yuuri gulped.

From the corner of his eye, Yuuri noticed that Viktor turned his head. Was he judging?

How could a international guest mess up this poorly for an esteemed orchestra? On live television, no less! Whether the stand moved on its own or if Yuuri’s head felt like taking a nosedive, the same outcome occurred. Yuuri fainted and would’ve smashed into the floor if his stand partner didn’t catch him in time.

No, Yuuri didn’t faint. Everything almost went black but when he felt his stand partner’s hand, Yuuri woke up with a jolt. He literally jumped out of his seat and tripped over the stand in front of him, spilling music sheets across the floor. Everyone stared at him.

What pitiful sight they saw.

A proud violist down on his knees before running offstage in tears.

Locked in a restroom stall with his instrument, Yuuri tore out a roll of toilet paper and smushed his face into the chaos. What happened to him? Was it because of Viktor? No, Yuuri couldn’t push a blame onto someone else. He was just overreacting, and he humiliated a promising orchestra in the process.

_ What an idiot I’ve been. _

Yuuri didn’t know that someone was hovering outside his stall. He didn’t know that someone heard his muffled cries. The sharp inhales of breath, followed by hiccups and grunts until the stall door was ripped open by a swift kick. Yuuri flinched. Standing in front of him was the prodigy doublebass player, Yuri Plisetsky. The youth’s bow was loosely attached to his belt loop, and it swayed when he pointed a dirty finger at Yuuri’s chest.

“I don’t know what the Hell you thought you were doing. But if you can’t lead your section without stumbling,  _ get ouT OF THE FRONT ROW!” _

Yuuri fell back against the toilet at the sudden bark. Remaining there until Plisetsky got the reaction he wanted, only crawling back to his feet when the double-bassist was gone. At least, Yuuri’s viola was okay. Unscathed after the fall, but Yuuri couldn’t say the same for his lower back when he shuffled out from the restroom.

Tail between his legs. But in this case, his head was down low. Unable to look at anyone when he when he hid behind the side curtains, watching everyone else perform. Unable to meet his idol’s eyes when Viktor glanced over at him.

Yuuri suspected that his dream would end like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending scene is part 1. The next chapter will pick up and expand more on what happened afterwards.


	2. Waltz of an Endless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing + alcohol = a night to remember
> 
> For a few individuals, it's a night worthy to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a dream about this chapter, so I had to type it.
> 
> Edited: July 26th, 2017

A sudden haze. Slop and slosh of fine wine as the night drank itself away. Buzzed hearts and minds ran for miles without end. The swell from a vintage record played Tchaikovsky's  _ ‘Sleeping Beauty Waltz’.  _ The amplifier creaked out the melodies and harmonies while the disc ran. Spinning on and on like the planet. An inertia of motion that couldn’t be stopped. Even when the song finished, someone simply spun the disc again.

Nighttime after an orchestra performance. Recap:  _ What did happen? _

Somewhere in the drunken haze, a cellist pointed a grubby finger at his shot glass and laughed his sorrows away. Humiliation on live television? No, the orchestra had to kick out one person and all the domino pieces fell into place. Say, if you had a prized berry bush and a branch or two hindered the growth of the plant, wouldn’t it be wise to trim off the undesirables?

* * *

 

For some, the night was enjoyable. For others, it was a night well-spent alone. Even though he “tracked dirt” onto the orchestra’s name, Yuuri was still invited to the night of drinking. Many sympathized with him, saying that it was perfectly fine for him to mess up. After all, he was just a “little beta” that was still learning the ropes in this alpha/omega world.

He appreciated that they talked slowly and one at a time, but they viewed Yuuri as a child when he was a goddamn adult. He had debated whether he wanted to come or not. A few drinks would settle the nerves, but in a foreign environment? With people that he knew during the past three weeks? And the whole prospect of being intoxicated before taking an early trip to the airport tomorrow morning?

After a careful debate with himself, Yuuri had finally decided to go. First and foremost, he checked his back before leaving.

* * *

 

When the orchestra had finished playing just an hour before, Yuuri regained some feeling in his legs and managed to shuffle out of the performance building by himself and called a taxi. Getting the taxi back to the hotel was a different story. Armed with an individual who didn’t know English, let alone sign-language, Yuuri scrambled onto Google Maps and showed the driver where his hotel was. The driver pointed to Yuuri’s ear and shook his head. Yuuri pointed to his own ear and nodded.

The taxi driver mentioned that his own sister was also deaf like Yuuri, but he said it in Russian and Yuuri didn’t know how to read the driver’s lips. At least the drive was comfortable and peaceful. Much better than the cramped conditions that the orchestra worked with. Sprawled across the back seat, Yuuri looked out the window as Moscow’s beautiful architecture captured his attention. The driver gave brief descriptions of each building that the taxi passed by, and Yuuri appreciated the effort. Paid it off well by giving the driver more rubles than what was asked, waving farewell before retreating up to his suite until evening.

Surfing through the web, changing into something more comfortable, and safely packing his belongings away. When evening rolled around, Yuuri found himself in a bar, where musicians drank themselves silly while classical pieces ricocheted in the background. What time was it? It was around eight at night when Yuuri finished his dinner, and he paid off his bill before slipping into the restroom.

The restroom was pretty clean, and Yuuri liked the washing soap’s scent. Smelled like lilacs and lilacs reminded him of Phichit, and Phichit reminded Yuuri of fun and joy. Fun and joy reminded Yuuri of his family, and his heart couldn’t wait to see them again.

Yuuri could only imagine what his parents’ reactions were going to be when they finally see the live performance. Would they be disappointed, humiliated, or both? Every day for as long as Yuuri could remember, his parents told him that he was a miracle child that had a gift. Would they still think the same way once they see Yuuri blunder and make a fool out of himself at a formal gathering?

What would Mari think? She was always skittish when Yuuri traveled abroad. Would this cement her belief that Yuuri wasn’t strong enough on his own? She never told Yuuri about these concerns, but Yuuri could see the unspoken words every time Mari glanced at him with soft eyes. After a while, Yuuri began to pay more attention to the things  _ left  _ unsaid than the ones that  _ were _ . He acted as if he didn’t notice, but it pained Yuuri a little more inside that even his own sister couldn’t say what really bothered her.

Whether by email or text, Yuuri needed to talk to Mari soon before anything else could cloud her judgement.

Straightening his appearance, Yuuri left the restroom and weaved through the crowd of drunken musicians before making it to the bar’s exit. In the low light, a swift hand brushed against his shoulder and tugged him into a neighboring booth. Yuuri instinctively tightened his belt.

Bar scenario, a mingling of drunken omegas and alphas, low light, and touchy-touchy feelings only spelled trouble.

What did Yuuri’s health teacher lecture about in case one was caught in a situation described above. Yuuri remembered the look of pure determination in his teacher’s eyes when he told everyone to keep their pants on. Whether Hell or high water, keeping your pants on was more important than satisfying someone else’s “need”. Unfortunately, Yuuri didn’t pay attention to the rest of the lecture. He wasn’t an omega that an alpha could force themselves upon. He wasn’t an alpha that wanted to get into trouble,  _ in the first place. _ Yuuri was Yuuri, and his blood alcohol-concentration was as flat as the romance in the cramped booth.

A dangling lamp served as an interrogation light as a minging of omegas and alphas paired off, smooching and rubbing each other’s scent glands. The pheromones killed Yuuri’s nose. Someone asked if he was crying. He wasn’t.

“Hey, Yuuri~ Know you’re a foreigner and all, but don’t you have a mate?”

After reading the omega’s lips, Yuuri shook his head. A few alphas sank into interest as they skimmed Yuuri over like he was a magazine. Yuuri kept to himself, not touching the glass of water that was pushed towards him.

“Why don’t you? Must get pretty lonely when you’re in need of help.” The omega winked and Yuuri did his best not to shudder. Despite what media wanted people to believe, omegas were just as dangerous as alphas. Maybe moreso because media has conditioned most of the population to believe that omegas were “easy”. There was nothing “easy” about an omega that could make an entire bar turn to stare at them with a single drop of “easy” pheromones. Then again, Yuuri couldn’t blame the bar if that happened.

Apparently, omega scents were irresistible to alphas and vice versa. Apparently, the scents were supposed to be pleasurable, but Yuuri felt like he was locked in a perfume store. With dozens of cracked bottles, leaking into the middle to create a monstrosity. The pheromones rubbed onto Yuuri’s skin and clothes, saturating him from the inside-out. He needed to escape.  _ Now. _

Yuuri signed that it was getting late and that he needed to go, but people pleaded that he  _ needed  _ to stay because the  _ real  _ party didn’t start yet.

Yuuri quickly signed,  _ “It’s fine. I’m sure I won’t miss much.” _

“Your loss, Katsuki.”

Carefully slipping past smooching partners, Yuuri was almost out of the booth before a newcomer slipped in and sealed off his exit. Yuuri thought about shoving the individual out of his way, but he stopped himself.  _ Stay calm. Count to ten. Count your breaths. You’ll get through this.  _ Even so, Yuuri was still fuming and an audible growl escaped from his lips. The crowd in the booth stared at him.

This was the first time they had ever heard  _ anything  _ come out from Yuuri’s mouth. The newcomer turned his head, and Yuuri was at a loss of words.  _ Viktor.  _ Bangs slicked to the side, warm light reflecting off his eyes. Mixing the red and orange with Viktor’s green and blue. Vest popped open along with his shirt collar, revealing a chiseled collarbone. Yuuri sheepishly tore his gaze away. Even if it was Viktor-- _ and Yuuri was damn sure that the man in front of him was indeed, Viktor Nikiforov-- _ Yuuri wasn’t going to soften up and jiggle like jello. No, he was a block of tofu that was left out a too long. Tough, gritty, and rough around the edges.

Yuuri pointed at himself and gestured at the bar exit in the corner. Viktor titled his head to the side, covering one of the eyes that Yuuri had admired for the past decade. Yuuri tried again, but the Russian smirked at him. Taking Yuuri’s breath away with such a simple gesture.

_ Oh God… _

Yuuri gritted his teeth and growled again, much louder than before.

The scents around Yuuri changed.  _ Drastically. _ Was that fear in the air? All he smelled was Viktor’s scent and his own weaker one. Hand lazily draped over his mouth, Viktor mumbled something. A softer growl escaped from Yuuri this time.  _ Great, _ Viktor was telling him something and he couldn’t read the man’s lips. Then, Viktor turned his head and talked to somebody else. Shunning Yuuri with his back and shoulders. Yuuri narrowed his eyes. He had a flight tomorrow morning, and no way in Hell was he going to miss it because of this. He nudged Viktor, trying to get him to scoot over.

Viktor barely turned his head to acknowledge Yuuri, and the beta’s sweet disposition turned sour just as quick. Every nerve in Yuuri’s body told him to push Viktor. Over the edge. Push Viktor and watch the expression on his face turn for the worse. Aggravate the pianist until the booth smelled like vengeance. Be at each other’s throats in a wrestling match for dominance. What little rationality Yuuri had left was still in his heart. He couldn’t and shouldn’t stir trouble, but Yuuri needed to get his intentions across..

Magically, the alpha moved on his own. Yuuri managed to slip out of the booth without violence.  _ Hoorah! _ Wait, why was Viktor holding his hand? Where was Viktor taking him? Yuuri dragged his heels. Was the alpha pissed off with him? Yuuri knew that mind-reading was impossible but at that very moment, he cowered at the thought that Viktor was somehow able to make the impossible... _ possible _ .

Viktor didn’t lead Yuuri to a secluded corner to ravage. On the contrary, the violist found himself on the dance floor. Viktor grabbed a bottle of vodka and downed the entire thing like it was second-breakfast.  _ Really stretching the Russian stereotype, you are.  _ Yuuri tried to escape, but a circle had already formed around him and Viktor. Eager eyes and snapping phones only meant one thing.  _ Dance battle. _ Was it even wise to dance when you had alcohol jacking your nervous system?

Yuuri tried to gesture to the others that this was a bad idea. No one noticed him. All eyes were on Viktor as the alpha stripped out of his vest and tossed it. Paralyzed, Yuuri watched as omegas snapped and fought for Viktor’s damn vest. Alcohol  _ and  _ raging pheromones  _ and  _ hormones did not mix well. Yuuri just wanted to go home, but someone turned on the club music and Yuuri was expected to dance.

The floor shook under his feet, and the bystanders started clapping. Yuuri watched them, deciphering the rhythm and the strong beat. Time signature of three-four. A waltz. Most likely a modern remix of one because a crystal ball dangled above the dance circle, and Yuuri watched as Viktor laid down his moves. Both competitors met each other’s eyes briefly, and the pianist had a smile that managed to push the stubborn Yuuri over the edge. If Viktor wanted to dance this badly, he should’ve asked.

Pulling off his glasses, Yuuri clipped them at his collar before letting the song’s rhythm crawl under his skin. Where were the major down beats? What was the tempo? Before long, Yuuri closed his eyes and his body moved on its own. If Viktor was going to lead this battle, Yuuri hoped that he was a suitable partner to keep up with.

Those ballet lessons with Minako weren’t a waste after all. Yuuri was rather agile for his age, but that didn’t come  _ close  _ to describing the elegance and haunting beauty that shrouded over him as he sent a kiss towards Viktor’s way. Dipping back and forth between passion and randomness, Yuuri adopted a new persona every time he came close to Viktor.

The role of the femme fatale as Yuuri snaked a finger down Viktor’s shoulder blade and to the base of the alpha’s back, circling him with a rather bored expression  before fluttering his lashes. Or perhaps, Yuuri was a passionate dancer that pressed himself close to Viktor,  _ closer than anyone would dare do,  _ letting his emotions dictate where he wanted to go.

Shuffling down the floor, one foot in front of the other. Turning heads left and right with the crack of the beats. Never tearing their gaze away from each other when they broke apart. Viktor worked something with his tap-dancing feet. Full-swing into the jazz of it all, Viktor amazed the audience with a fantastic slide down the dance floor. Viktor snapped his attention to Yuuri, asking if the violist could top that.

Yuuri loosened his collar. There was a reason why he liked dancing without glasses on. You couldn’t see anything, but it made him alive. Swaying his hips to the pulsing rhythm beneath his feet, Yuuri earned himself a few whistles when he shattered the dance floor. Hand stand? He sure did it. Lifting himself up with one arm and jumping back to his feet? Yuuri hardly broke a sweat, wondering if Viktor wanted to stop him or not. Viktor never did, so Yuuri spun back to his little world.

Viktor and Yuuri’s hands eventually found each other for the final step sequence. Very much like the tango-style they had adopted much earlier. Three inches bridged between them,  _ this time _ . Their scents were tangled, and it was hard to tell where Yuuri started or where Viktor ended. Or, was it the other way around? A loose thumb planted itself over Yuuri’s bottom lip as Viktor leaned in for a kiss. Yuuri kept a delicate hand on Viktor’s shoulders as he twirled past the alpha’s advances.

Hand loosely at Viktor’s hip, Yuuri led the man down a final run before Viktor twirled him into his arms. For the first time, Yuuri became painfully aware of close Viktor was. If the alpha wanted to, he could’ve claimed Yuuri as his own. The error message exploded in the violist mind. Yuuri was quick to take charge.

At the last second, Yuuri dipped his leg so that he could turn and have Viktor in his arms instead. The look of pure shock that registered over the alpha’s face was priceless. It was Yuuri who dipped Viktor back.

The music stopped. The flashes from phones served as the perfect back-drop as Viktor melted in Yuuri’s hands. Breathing unsteadily, Viktor’s eyes darkened by a shade when Yuuri pulled him back up. And when the man before him pulled his glasses back on, Viktor’s breath wasn’t the first to be stolen. Was this Love?

Afterwards, Yuuri helped Viktor back to the latter’s hotel suite. Someone was kind enough to text Yuuri the directions. While stumbling down the hotel’s quiet halls, Yuuri felt drained. He was supposed to be fast asleep under soft bed covers. Definitely not escorting his drunken idol back to bed.

Yuuri stiffened when Viktor clambered over his shoulder and nuzzled against his neck. The  _ stench  _ wafting off of Viktor was enough to drive Yuuri dizzy. He could only imagine how an unmated omega would react. Breathing steadily, Yuuri lowered his shoulder so that Viktor would let go, but the alpha whined and nuzzled deeper beside Yuuri’s neck.

The violist was aware that Viktor was mumbling things. Whatever they were, they didn’t concern him. He needed Viktor in bed and asleep. That was it. Nothing more and nothing less. Irked with Viktor’s  _ sweet nothings _ , Yuuri finally turned around and pressed a finger against his own lips.

VIktor pouted.  _ “Make me.” _

So Yuuri did.

Viktor stumbled without his support. Yuuri caught Viktor gently and hugged him close. For the hundredth time that night, Yuuri was pressed against his idol and Viktor’s scent killed his poor nose. Even so, the beta knew that he would never have a chance like this again, and Yuuri  _ especially  _ knew how to keep Viktor quiet. Leaning in towards the alpha’s neck, Yuuri poked and prodded until he found the alpha’s scent glands.

Viktor got a little clingy with the hug, so Yuuri acted fast. As gently as possible, he pressed his teeth down over one of Viktor’s scent gland. The alpha flinched, but he barely moved. Numb, with only his panting breath to remind him that he was still alive. Yuuri didn’t notice  _ red  _ painted over Viktor’s face and neck until he deposited the alpha onto a hotel bed. Viktor kept to himself, twiddled his thumbs, and kept his head low. Knees pressed tightly together, elbows digging into his sides.

Confused by the  _ odd  _ atmosphere between them, Yuuri retreated into Viktor’s bathroom. Cracking open hand-soaps and sniffing them before using a peppermint brand. Carefully ignoring the towels drying on a rack, refraining himself from getting too close to a dagger of a toothbrush that Viktor kept in a plastic baggie. Drying his hands with toilet paper, Yuuri passed by the suite’s toilet and his lower back immediately began to ache.

A feisty Yuri Plisetsky registered in Yuuri’s mind, and the memory of earlier that day bleached Yuuri’s core.  _ Humiliation. Regret. Guilt. _ At the bar earlier, did people think he was toying with Viktor? Did they believe that a runaway foreigner like him somehow casted a spell over the pianist, turning him into a bumbling mess? Yuuri tried to steady his breathing. It was moments like this where he was glad that his scent glands weren’t fully developed.

If they were, Viktor would’ve busted down the bathroom door. The door wasn’t kicked open, but Yuuri squeaked when he saw Viktor’s reflection in the mirror. Head low, Yuuri shuffled past Viktor and out the other door. He felt Viktor grip the hem of his sleeve. There was something  _ odd  _ with the alpha’s scent. Yuuri didn’t know what was different, and he didn’t care to know.

He simply brushed Viktor off of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, Yuuri... To those unfamiliar with omegaverse "customs", what Yuuri did to Viktor in the hotel hallway is an action reserved for bonded pairs.


	3. Canon Variation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While he was here in front of the mirror, Viktor squinted at his reflection. Just a disheveled alpha looked back at him, but what was that pink patch on the side of his neck? A pink mark only symbolized one thing. Bonding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the loving comments and support for this fic~ After a lot of research about omegaverses during the past three days, I've been wanting to turn this omegaverse!AU onto its side. Yes, usually these fics have a standard formula. Being the "go with the flow" person that I am, I decided to go against many of the trends I saw so that I could build a fresher patch of ground for the AU to stand on.
> 
> This story kind of follows the Yuri!!! on Ice anime plotline but not really.
> 
> Edited: July 27th, 2017

In an early Russian dawn, the crisp melody of a viola rolled along the busy streets of Moscow. Flowers in bloom, serenading the rise and fall of notes. High in the air, the viola’s sweet voice was amplified. Each note carried a tingling warmth that started at the toes before springing up to a person’s eyes.

Hangovers subsided for the time-being. Energy was put forth into cleaning and polishing dirty shields that all men and women carried. Dents were repaired, a clean rag wiped until a reflection winked back and once again, everyone carried their walls and resumed their lives.

* * *

 

Eight in the morning on a Moscow morning.

Try saying that ten times without tripping over your tongue. Then again, Yuuri wasn’t one for tongue-twisters. While his mouth was a novice to conventional communication, his viola was an expert.

The rosy wood and clean strings were the perfect components for a wonderful mouthpiece. A kiss over the bridge to thank the viola for all her hard work. A squishy hug to make her feel loved. Wipe her down with a clean cloth so that she could reflect the inner gears of the human heart. Place her gently back into her home and close the lid shut.

While a viola was the perfect mouthpiece, the instrument’s case was an awesome way to keep strangers away. Through the awkward years of growing up, Yuuri could safely admit that he never had to confront somebody at school because of his case. The hard plastic was like a menacing pet that stuck to Yuuri’s side, threatening to bump into anybody that dared to get into her owner’s way.

In reality, people avoided Yuuri because he had a reputation for taking out the ankles of those near him. If you walked too slow, bam! An instrument case shot for your achilles, and Yuuri would lower his head and apologize while you danced on one foot. If you walked too fast, the case took out your knees. Walked too close? The case nudged you on the side, telling you to back away.

In the real world,  _ at an airport,  _ the principle still rang true. A group of people walking in a pack? They parted like the Red Sea when Yuuri appeared. The viola case squinted at the passing party before resuming her usual, innocent look. Of course, the duality of instruments and their cases was about as complicated as the duality residing in Man. A different mask depending on the occasion, and Yuuri flipped through his masks as he approached smiling attendants with his flight ticket.

No luggage. Just a carry-on and a temperamental viola case. Yuuri’s ticket was checked off, and he walked through the familiar hall to board onto his flight. Aisle seat or window seat? Aisle seat meant that he had freedom to go to the restroom as he pleased, but he had to be watchful of his seating-partners. Window seat erased that problem but then, Yuuri would have to awkwardly communicate instead..

Eyebrow twitching, Yuuri stuck with the aisle seat. The row was a three-seater, and Yuuri was polite enough to stand up and move aside so that his seating-partners wouldn’t have to brush against his kneecaps while getting to their seat. After stowing his things away and pushing his viola case under his seat, Yuuri flipped through a wrinkled safety-pamphlet while he observed his seating-partners.

It was a mother and a small child. Heavy bags and frizzled hair matched the mother’s attitude as she buckled her youngster into his seat. The child,  _ probably four or five,  _ was wide-eyed and distracting. Puffing his cheeks out and slapping them with his tiny hands, Yuuri scooted away when he saw  _ literal  _ spit fly. The mother sent Yuuri a strained smile before reprimanding her son, and the boy pouted and crossed his arms.

It was going to be a long flight.

Rummaging through his backpack, Yuuri pulled out his headphones and slipped them on. Tugging his headphone’s audio jack into his jacket pocket, Yuuri bobbed his head to a random rhythm before the plane took flight. Besides being an aesthetic, headphones on an airplane was the universal sign of  _ “I want to be alone so don’t talk to me.”  _ Yuuri glanced to his left after a little while. Judging by how stressed the mother was, he was going to have a peaceful flight if the toddler beside him didn’t do anything funny.

The kid looked up and smiled at him, and Yuuri couldn’t resist a friendly smile. Sure, he’ll entertain the child with monopoly cards. Before the violist knew it, two hours had passed by and he was stuck in jail  _ again  _ as the child built another hotel over the  _ Boardwalk. _

* * *

 

Ten in the morning on a Moscow morning.

Viktor dragged the hotel bed covers down with him when he rolled. Sprawled across the floor, he tried to lift his head. Thinking the best of it, Viktor rested his chin against the floor and groaned instead. Bangs covering his eyes, Viktor tried to guess what time it was. He knew it was daylight, and he knew he got to bed  _ very late _ last night.

Viktor remembered getting drunk, a dance battle came to mind, and someone escorted him back to his hotel suite. But even so, the memories were meshed together in a strange blur. Scenes faded in and out. The pianist remembered the little things. Sweaty hands, aching bones, fiery liquor down his throat, and a flash of warmth that made his body pant. Viktor struggled with the larger picture.

Viktor remembered in vivid detail of how he was swept off his feet while dipped back in a tango. The bar music coursed through his blood as he gazed up, blushing at his dance partner. The wrinkles in his partner’s shirt, the horrendous tie wrapped around their neck, the warmth of their breath over Viktor’s lips, and the powerful arms that supported Viktor through it all.

Curling into a ball under the bed covers, Viktor sniffed his clothes. His scent was overwhelming, but Viktor noticed someone else’s scent. It was faint and barely detectable from the other smells in the hotel suite, but it was there. It was especially strong around Viktor’s shirt collar, and he rubbed his nose against the scent until he committed it to memory. Nothingness,  _ but at the same time _ , it reminded Viktor of how he used to smell when he was a kid. Back before he and his family knew about his dynamic. Back when every child was simply viewed as a child instead of what biological rank they were.

The bland scent sure brought back memories, but it didn’t bring back the face or the voice of Viktor’s mysterious partner. The pianist furrowed his brows as he finally rose from the floor. Leaning against chairs and walls for support, he stumbled into the bathroom and slapped his face with cold water from the sink. A towel hung from a metal loop by the mirror. Viktor ran it under the faucet and scrubbed his face. His eyes were bloodshot, but some coffee should be able to bring back their youth. His hair was thinning out, and Viktor watched as a sizable chunk of freed itself from his scalp when he ran his hand through it.

Viktor steadied his breathing.  _ It’s natural. My hands are still wet. _

After drying his hands off, Viktor ran his hand through his hair again. His fingers were hair-free this time, so he was safe.  _ For now,  _ a voice whispered from the back of his mind. While he was here in front of the mirror, Viktor squinted at his reflection. A disheveled alpha looked back at him, but what was that pink patch on the side of his neck? Running a finger down, Viktor froze when his fingertip felt the dents of a bite mark. It was a shallow bite and all, but it hovered over one of his scent glands. A pink mark only symbolized one thing. Bonding.

_ No. No. No.  _ Viktor shoved the bite closer to the mirror. It was indeed a bite. A bonding bite. His body hasn’t rejected it yet. It should, though. Such a shallow bite should be gone within a few hours, maybe a day at most. But the more Viktor rubbed and examined it, the more certain he was that the bite should’ve been gone already.

Why wasn’t his body rejecting it? The bite was a few hours old at least, but it  _ looked  _ fresh. Breaking out of the bathroom, Viktor sniffed around. All he smelled was himself. Nobody else. Viktor pulled up his shirt and searched for the foreign scent that clung to it. The scent was about as old as the bite mark, but the mark had no plans of leaving.

_ What happened last night? _

Viktor’s memories were foggy at best, but he knew that someone escorted him back to his suite. All he could remember about the individual were their clothes and their soft grip that they had over Viktor as they... _ bit him.  _ Viktor steadied himself with a suite chair. Knees shaking uncontrollably. Knuckles a ghastly white.

This scent,  _ this one scent that was barely detectable to Viktor’s nose,  _ was the only hint he had of finding out who the individual was. Maybe it was an omega who was on suppressants. Maybe it was an alpha who chose to wore a neutral cologne. Then again, colognes weren’t as strong as suppressants, but Viktor was sure that the individual wasn’t an omega. He would’ve never left the bar if the first was true.

If an alpha did it, why did Viktor have a shallow bite? Unless, the culprit wanted him to be in an emotional haze. But then again, that  _ wasn’t  _ an alpha tactic. Viktor never cared much for stereotypes but given his situation, stereotypes were the only justifications he had.

Omegas were typically subtle about these things, but Viktor couldn’t blame one, even if he wanted to. Really, who would believe him? The world was conditioned to believe that omegas were always the victims to these sort of things. If word got out, Viktor would be dealt with the blame instead.

The alpha was  _ damn sure _ that he didn’t bite anybody last night.

Viktor remembered that someone went into his bathroom. While his heart and mind were racing over the  _ recent  _ bond bite. Sweaty hands and knees pressed together while Viktor’s face glowed through the fifty different shades of red. As the pianist dissected the memory, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Was his drunken-self hoping that the individual would return so that Viktor could bite them too? To complete the bond and be emotionally tied. To be together forever or weighed down with regrets over a one-night stand?

_ “I’m in a damn rom-com,” _ Viktor muttered to himself. Once the rest of the orchestra sobered up, he would have to ask around to find out who the individual was. For now, all Viktor could do was hope that his bond bite would disappear. He had to think rationally. His body shouldn’t accept an invitation from somebody he had met during a drunken haze, but that made Viktor wonder. Did the individual do it, or did  _ he, Viktor _ , ask for it?

Breathing slowly, Viktor collapsed over his suite’s bed. Thirty-eight new messages and twelve missed calls on his phone. Viktor buried his face into his pillow, chest aching horribly. He wondered how his dance-partner was doing.

* * *

 

Seven hours later,  _ after many monopoly battles and epic boasts,  _ the plane finally landed in Tokyo. Tugging off his headphones, Yuuri winced as his ears adjusted to the air pressure. Next to him, the little boy did the same, shouting how he didn’t like the feeling either. His mother shushed him, but Yuuri gestured that her son couldn’t help it. With ears popping and hearing being fuzzy and all. Yuuri stretched his limbs while the plane jogged around the airport before finally parking. It was around six or seven at night, and there was a futon waiting for Yuuri, somewhere in downtown.

Bidding goodbye to the mother and child, Yuuri grabbed his things and boarded off the plane. Tokyo’s airport was much like Moscow’s,  _ minus the fact that Yuuri could actually read the signs more easily now.  _ Walking around, Yuuri waited outside while a line of taxis came in and out like the tide. Fifteen minutes later, Yuuri was in front of his apartment room. Keys jingling out from his pocket, Yuuri wiggled the key around until the door opened and he gathered his things inside. The lights turned on.

Bed neat and tidy. Kitchen quiet while the fridge hummed a lullaby. Absolutely nothing in his fridge because Yuuri had to clean it all out before the trip to Moscow. Plates, cups, and bowls tucked safely in overhead cabinets. A box of cup noodles hidden in a corner. Yuuri boiled himself a kettle of water as he investigated the rest of his apartment space. Last but not least, a squishy futon with a music note plush tucked under a blanket. Yuuri collapsed over his futon and rolled around.

Hotel beds may’ve been nice, but nothing came close to the familiarity of one’s own. After rolling around and mixing his scent into the dust, Yuuri retreated back to the kitchen and waited for the kettle whistle before pouring hot water over his cup noodles. He needed to buy groceries tomorrow but at least for now, Yuuri was comforted with a cheap starch and a thin broth.

And after a very long day, Yuuri crawled into his futon before flipping through news articles on his phone. A caption caught his eyes, but it was something about the legalization of muzzles.

* * *

 

_ “It’s like someone has no trust in you. Even if you know the person for a long time, your blood boils as soon as you see the damn thing in their hands,”  _ Mari signed to Yuuri, through a video call.

Yuuri was at Juilliard at the time, just a freshman when he had this talk with Mari. She was livid, and Yuuri imagined that each word that came out of her mouth was a snarl. Mari’s signing was unsteady, and she squeezed a stress ball until it popped.  _ “It feels like you’re not in control of your life anymore. Suddenly, everybody is judging you for a crime that you didn’t do.” _

* * *

 

A few more argument threads, a few breakthrough articles that touched on trans-dynamics, and Yuuri couldn’t help but read through those articles. An alpha that wanted to be an omega and vice versa. How the surgery would work, how hormones would be administered, and the consequences of how the hormones would clash with your biological ones. Each article had the same warning:  _ No matter who you were, you had to be very careful while administrating for yourself. _

A delicate life could be ruined forever if too much of one thing was coursing through your system. The warning apply to Yuuri, but he had thought about the procedure. More than once on a good month. The problem was, health professionals weren’t sure if the same procedure could be done on a beta.

It wasn’t like the medical community had volunteers to test on. As far as Yuuri knew, he was the only beta in the East Asian region. The sample size was too small for a third option to be valid for him. Not to mention, Yuuri wasn’t even sure if his body could handle the extra hormones. Even a small dose was far too much for a beta’s body to get used to, and Yuuri didn’t want to start with the surgery complications. The articles never detailed much on the subject, but Yuuri could only speculate how high the percentage of failure was for a beta. Probably in the nineties and for what?

Trying to boost his mood back up, Yuuri read a heartfelt article of an omega who took the surgery so that she could be a beta. Originally a male, the omega chose to have her switch seven years ago before undergoing the dynamics’ surgery. After seven years and with a hormonal shift that was about as stabilized as you can get, the dynamics’ surgery was successfully performed three weeks ago.  _ Three weeks ago, I went to Moscow and the world gained another beta,  _ Yuuri thought to himself as he read about the woman’s experience.

* * *

 

An interviewer asked the woman what was the hardest thing to get used to after the surgery.  _ Being detached from the world. _ The woman could still interact like how she used to, and no significant changes occurred with her existing relationships. However, she felt a distance between herself and from her alpha and omega comrades.

_ “I’m not doing this to poke fun at the dynamic. That’s not my intention at all. Personally, I felt that my life didn’t need to revolve around these issues between omegas and alphas. I wouldn’t say that being a beta was my escape from all of that, but it made me happier than I have been. _

_ I originally wanted my scent glands altered that I could fully be in the beta perspective, but the surgeons advised against it. My scent glands were fully developed. For a beta, that’s not the case. Upon learning that, I honest to God broke down and cried. Scent glands were evolved for social interaction, and it became a helpful indicator of how an individual felt at any given moment. I can only imagine how a beta must’ve felt when they realized that they couldn’t interact like everyone else.” _

* * *

 

Yuuri was numb. Perhaps, it was because he never thought about his dynamic in  _ that  _ way.

It was always his mother, his father, or Mari that started up something so that Yuuri could fit in. It was always Yuuko or Takeshi that invited him to social gatherings so that he could interact with new people. Even in college, it was typically Phichit who motivated Yuuri to meet with new people so that he could be comfortable with others. 

Yuuri had thought about initiating friendships before, but the action never came around unless someone nudged him to do it. Yuuri didn’t think it was because he was a beta. Socially awkward was usually the first thought that came to mind.

Yuuri rolled around on his futon before skimming through other articles to distract himself. He switched to the trending tab. Nothing much. Something about Viktor Nikiforov and a new song he was going to compose for the next  _ Global Division Concerts. _ Yuuri flipped through the gallery of pictures. Viktor in all his flair, Viktor by a piano, Viktor sitting in a coffee shop with composition journals sprawled next to his cup of coffee, Viktor leading an orchestra through a famous piece and finally, a picture of Viktor at a musicians’ conference. The article was posted an hour ago. Considering how much Viktor drank last night, Yuuri was surprised that the alpha was sober enough to be in public.

Yuuri’s eyes briefly hovered over a pink tinge that was on the side of the alpha’s neck. Yuuri was surprised that his bite mark was still there, considering how shallow it was. However, it looked faded, so he had nothing to worry about.

* * *

 

Seven months later in a small music store in Hasetsu, Yuuko was dutifully checking off the store’s inventory as her mate, Nishigori Takeshi, cleaned out the back storage. Making room for the new cellos that were coming in soon. Up on her tippy toes, Yuuko shifted around a few boxes with a pencil between her teeth. She tried to reach for a bow that magically transported to the top of a very high shelf. Probably the work of one of her daughters. Alas, her fingertips barely grazed the bow and her mate was using the foot ladder to hammer in wall shelves in the back. Yuuko could jump. She could definitely see herself getting the bow then, but she also saw a tipped over shelf crushing her against the floor.

Bad idea.

Her ears perked up when she heard the the front door swing.

“I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”

The footsteps came closer. Yuuko’s instincts got the best of her. Turning around, Yuuko’s attention fell upon a hooded figure. Under the hood were a pair of glasses. Behind the pair of glasses was the round face of a dear old friend, Katsuki Yuuri. What else? An adorkable expression rode on Yuuri’s face as he gave Yuuko a little wave. Yuuko lowered her clipboard.

“Yuuri, is that you?”

The violist nodded and an equally adorkable expression rode on Yuuko’s face.as she jumped over the store counter and shook Yuuri’s hand. Yuuri’s whole body shook while Yuuko’s other hand signed as quickly as her lips.

“It’s been so long! How have you been? Did you visit your family? Wow, you’ve really gotten taller since high school~!”

Yuuri nodded until he grew dizzy.  While birds flew around Yuuri’s head, Yuuko noticed the viola case in her friend’s hand. She winked at Yuuri and escorted him to one of the back rooms in the store.

_ “Here for your viola’s yearly checkup?”  _ She signed behind her back. Yuuri couldn’t reply just yet, but he had so many things that the wanted to say. The way Yuuko held his hand reminded Yuuri of their childhood together. She never wanted Yuuri to get lost, so old habits were had to kill.

Popping her head into a storage room, Yuuko startled Takeshi with a whistle. The omega stood up too quickly, and his head collided with the underside of a table. Yelping, Takeshi slowly poked his head out.

“Did a beginner break their G-string?” Takeshi rubbed his head but stood up just as Yuuko stepped aside so that Yuuri could come into the picture. Takeshi froze. Yuuri gave a small wave. It had been almost five years since the two last saw each other. Takeshi was a lot taller than Yuuri now. A lot bigger too, but that was because Takeshi had triplets to take care of.

Yuuko did her fair share in the upbringing, but Takeshi was a tad bit closer to his children. Axel, Lutz, and Loop were his little princesses after all, and Yuuko was their brave knight while Takeshi played the role of the friendly, good dragon. And Yuuri knew all of this because Yuuko sent emails about it. Attached with some cute pictures, of course.

“Don’t just stand there, sweetie.” Yuuko tilted her head with a smile. “He’s back home.”

And like a mighty waterfall, Takeshi charged and tackled Yuuri into a hug. The latter yelped as he hit the floor, and Yuuko caught Yuuri’s viola case when it jumped into the air. Sobbing into Yuuri’s shoulder, Takeshi squeezed his friend and Yuuri tried to wrestle Takeshi off of him. To no avail, Yuuri remained squashed until Takeshi realized that his friend needed to breathe.

Between tears and the snot hanging off his nose, Takeshi let Yuuri go before wiping his tears with a tissue that Yuuko offered. “What gives you the right to come back after all these years?” Takeshi blew his nose loudly while Yuuko comforted her mate with slow pats on the back. Yuuri managed a weak chuckle.

_ “I’m sorry. I should’ve given you guys a call.” _

“No need.” Yuuko wrapped her jacket around her mate with an embrace. “Don’t forget: you’re always welcome here.” Yuuko flinched when she saw tears in Yuuri’s eyes. Sighing, she gestured that Yuuri could join the embrace as well. With that, Yuuko dealt with two sobbing men by her side while they hugged each other. “Okay, okay. Stop crying you two.” A bead sweat ran down Yuuko’s neck as her sobbing companions hugged her too. Trying not to cringe when their snot got on her. “You two! Tissues.  _ Now!” _

* * *

 

Meanwhile at Yu-topia Hot Springs, Mari came back from the grocery store with a few kegs of beer and noodles. She knew something was up as soon as she walked past the threshold.

One, Minako was in the lounge with a few drinking patrons. With the remote in hand, she battled to keep her viewing channel on while the others wanted to watched football. Two, Mari’s father was more chipper than usual as he sipped his herbal tea. Three, Mari walked past the kitchen and caught a whiff of katsudon. Her mother was making five. Unless Minako was having two bowls to herself, a guest was joining them.

Mari narrowed her eyes.

Setting the groceries in the kitchen, Mari walked over to her room and noticed a light in her brother’s room. Mari tiptoed over and pressed an ear by the door. Silence. Either Yuuri was asleep, or he was practicing with his mute on. Suppress her grin, Mari pushed the door open in excitement. The excitement popped when Mari didn’t see her brother. His luggage was on his bed, and a litter of sheet music was scattered across the floor. Shaped to form a crumbly, paper nest.

Her beta of a brother was back, and Mari barely missed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you for the loving comments and support. I'm sorry that this chapter is slower than the past two.


	4. Don't Want to Lose You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if you didn’t know the person’s name or face, they were still important to you. You may’ve meant nothing to this person, but they meant something to you. No matter how hard you tried to scrub the memories away, they still lingered and you still thought about them. A chance meeting, perhaps? Maybe you’ll see each other again someday. What a dream that’ll be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo~ I wanted to get another chapter in before Spring Break! Besides my birthday is in two days, so I wanted to get this chapter up before then too! This chapter is shorter than the last one, but around average with chapter 1 and 2. If you see something underlined, click on it. Please.
> 
> Edit: July 28th 2017

Yuuri remembered the first time he met Yuuko and Takeshi. Somewhere in primary school, little Yuuri had his head up in the clouds as a student-helper escorted him to the playground. Yuuri remembered that day clearly. Blue sky, fluffy clouds made of cotton candy, and it had just finished raining. The playground was littered with fresh mud and beautiful puddles. A dancing rainbow hopped from cloud to another, and Yuuri often stopped the student-helper so that she could see the rainbow too.

She tugged Yuuri’s hand. “We’re going to be late. Don’t you want to play on the swings?”

No matter how hard Yuuri pointed, the student-helper shook her head and told Yuuri that his gesture was rude. She squeezed the boy’s hand and urged him to follow her. Yuuri dragged his heels.

Along the sidewalk by the playground were giant puddles. Mari once told Yuuri that if you jumped into one, you would grow gills and fins and become a fish!

When he saw the chance, Yuuri let go of the student-helper’s hand and splashed around in a puddle. Water came up and soaked him from head to toe. Water dripped down his hair as Yuuri splashed his feet. He would’ve rolled around in the water if he could.

Talons reached out and yanked Yuuri from the mess.

“No, that’s bad. Don’t do that.” The student-helper snapped her fingers to get Yuuri’s attention. Yuuri looked elsewhere, distracted by more puddles. Suddenly, the student-helper’s fingers appeared before Yuuri’s eyes, frightening him. Tripping into another puddle, Yuuri earned himself a firm slap over the hand before being led to the nearby swings.

Yuuri ripped his hand out from the student-helper’s grasp, but he didn’t move. A teary-eyed, little boy stared back at him from one of the puddles. Yuuri wanted him to disappear. He wasn’t scared or sad. No, he was a happy kid. Yuuri wanted to kick the reflection until it smiled, but the reflection moved when Yuuri moved. It frowned when Yuuri frowned. Its eyes grew red while Yuuri’s eyes burned.

“Go play.” The student-helper nudged Yuuri closer to the swings. Yuuri stood his ground, continuing to glare at his own reflection.

Where was the smiling little Yuuri that used to stomp through puddles on a clear day like this? Where were his parents? They used to hold his hands as he hopped and skipped over puddles. Where was Mari? His sister used to tell stories of how people turned into fish if they jumped into a puddle. If Yuuri could turn into a fish, he wouldn’t have to go to school anymore. If he didn’t have to go to school anymore, he wouldn’t have to see the student-helper anymore.

Sprinting away from the swings, Yuuri jumped into a puddle and stomped to his heart’s content. Yuuri imagined gills popping over his neck. His fingers were turning webbed and scaly. He felt himself shrinking as a fish tail replaced his legs and feet. With a final hop, Yuuri wondered if he was below the surface.

 _“Just like an omega,”_ the student-helper muttered, dragging Yuuri out from the puddle. Yuuri winced at her vice-grip. He tried to wiggle himself free, but the student-helper was done. Done with him, done with this, and _especially_ done with Yuuri’s behavior.

Turning around, she forced Yuuri to look up at her. He only looked after her nails dug into his hand. _“I am done with your attitude.”_ She spoke slowly, over-pronouncing her words.

* * *

 

_Stop being a little bastard and do as you’re told._

When Yuuri got older, he realized that was what the student-helper meant.

* * *

 

As a little kid, Yuuri thought that the student-helper was sad because Yuuri didn’t want to play on the equipment that she wanted to play on. He tried to tell her that the puddles were more fun, but Yuuri didn’t know what to say. A weird raspy sound escaped from his mouth, and the student-helper chastised him for hissing.

“Hey! What are you doing?”

The student-helper whipped her head back, and Yuuri hid behind her. Storming towards them was an annoyed redhead and her strong yet chill childhood friend. Yuuri cowered behind the student-helper, and she took this to her advantage. Crossing her arms and looking down at the “toddlers” before her.

“Hazuki Yuuko, I would change that tone if I were you. You don’t want a teacher to think that you’re fighting again~”

Yuuko puffed  her chest out in pride. She stood her ground and Takeshi backed her up by pulling off a weak, intimidating look. The look worked on Yuuri, but the student-helper barely hid her laugh.

“Shouldn’t you two be justice warriors on another part of the playground?”

Yuuko pointed a dirty finger at the student-helper. “You’re being a bully, and that’s not right.”

“I’m helping this student realize what is right and what is wrong.” She patted the top of Yuuri’s head, and Yuuri froze so he wouldn’t be slapped again.

“Don’t act like you’re the big hero,” Yuuko snarled, baring the small alpha-ish fangs that were beginning to show. “Takeshi and I saw you push and hurt that kid when he wanted to play in the puddles.”

“I’m teaching Katsuki here that puddles are dirty.”

_“You’re teaching him that fear is okay!”_

Yuuko spoke so quickly that Yuuri could barely read her lips. The student-helper was talking so calmly that it seemed like a lie. Takeshi hadn’t said a word yet, but he sent a worried glance towards Yuuri.

The little boy didn’t know Yuuko and Takeshi. At the same time, he wasn’t even sure if he knew the student-helper. He didn’t like any of this. All this tension clawed at his throat. Everything Yuuri wanted to say was caught in the back of his throat, forcing him to hiss.

The student-helper “comforted” him with a pat on the shoulder, but Yuuri recoiled from her touch. Slapping her hand away, Yuuri ran and hid behind Takeshi.

Out of everyone, Takeshi seemed the safest. He didn’t have to say anything. That one glance he sent to Yuuri told the little boy everything he wanted to hear. Takeshi promised hugs and warmth. Yuuri got that warmth when Takeshi bent down to hug him. He didn’t recoil at how dirty Yuuri was. On the contrary, he embraced all the flaws that were written on Yuuri and Yuuri cried into Takeshi’s shoulder.

Yuuko shot the student-helper a winning look before escorting her comrades to another part of the playground. A safer and quieter part. When Yuuri finished crying, Takeshi and Yuuko reached out and asked Yuuri if he was okay. Yuuri tried to sign that he was, but his fingers fumbled with his words.

“It’s alright. You’re not going to be with that mean student-helper anymore,” Yuuko said. She wrapped her jacket around Yuuri’s trembling body. Now that he was closer to her, Yuuri smelled wild flowers and the char of a blazing fire wafting off of Yuuko. He nuzzled his nose against Yuuko’s jacket and felt a little warmer.

Takeshi made sure that Yuuri was looking at him before asking, “Do you want to play in the puddles?”

Yuuri nodded while tears streaked down his cheeks. Takeshi didn’t lead Yuuri until the latter reached out his hand for Takeshi to take. Holding it softly, Takeshi led Yuuri to a big puddle and the two boys splashed to their heart’s content. Mixed with the scent of mud was Takeshi’s woody scent. It soothed Yuuri’s nerves and lit a fire in his heart. Takeshi was the wood. Yuuko was the untamed flame. They both kept him warm, and Yuuri didn’t know how to thank them.

* * *

 

Roughly nineteen years later, Yuuko and Takeshi were still the fire and wood that kept Yuuri warm. All three of them were older, smarter, and more capable of fighting the world than before. But even so, when it came down to it, all three of them reverted back to how they used to be.

Yuuko was always the leader, a bit too mouthy for her age, and furiously loyal to those that she cared for. Takeshi was chill, comforting, an anchor to Yuuko’s explosive energy, and a powerful ally with the strength to prove it. Yuuri was quiet, a good listener, particularly sneaky when he wanted to be, and a sweet comrade that tried not to judge.

In the present, Yuuri was drinking hot green tea with his friends. Courtesy of Takeshi, who happened to be carrying tea bags with him. While Yuuko teased her mate, Yuuri glanced around. The three of them were huddled in the storage room, snuggled in a corner with Yuuko’s jacket over all three of them. Yuuri’s viola case was set on a table, ready to be examined after the little tea break. However, Yuuko wanted the tea break to last forever, and Takeshi wasn’t finished with his scenting. He rubbed his cheek over Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri soon returned the favor. Not wanting to be left out, Yuuko jumped in and nearly spilled tea over everybody.

Friendly scenting was always a plus after meeting one another for the first time in years. Yuuri missed Yuuko and Takeshi’s wedding. They both missed many of Yuuri’s concerts. Yuuri missed the birth of Axel, Lutz, and Loop. Yuuko missed Yuuri’s arrival to Japan after graduating from Juilliard. Takeshi forgot several of Yuuri’s birthdays, and Yuuko never lived that down whenever she got the chance to tease her mate about it. Yuuri missed the first August the eighteenth. Yuuko and Takeshi didn’t have a chance to watch Yuuri’s live humiliation in the Russian orchestra.

He wondered if they forgot about it, but Yuuri didn’t want to ask them. The two were busy as it was, and the sixth August the eighteenth was coming.Yuuko and Takeshi looked rather chipper. It was better not to remind them about it. Especially Yuuko.

After the tea break, Takeshi operated on Yuuri’s viola while Yuuko returned to her inventory checking. Yuuri waited at the front of the store with a stress ball balanced at the tip of his nose. He had to go home soon for dinner, but there was something he still needed to do. For his friends’ sake. For Yuuko’s sake.

* * *

 

Meanwhile at home, Mari and Minako were scrambling. The TV was perfectly fine just a few minutes ago. Now, it was on standby and a few patrons kept swiping the remote control to switch to the sporting channel. Minako battled for the remote while Mari toyed with the TV antenna.

Out of all the times where something had to go wrong, why now? Mari wanted to record something for her baby brother, and the stupid network was playing games with her. Mari wondered if the connection would work if she slammed her forehead against the TV. Rolling her eyes, she struck a pose and the TV magically began to work.

“Stay still.” Minako danced around the TV to make sure that it wasn’t a mistake.

Mari threw her camcorder to Minako, and Minako hit the record button.

* * *

 

In TV world, piano prodigy, _Viktor Nikiforov,_ glided across the stage to perform for a charity event. Viktor bowed his head before taking his seat behind the piano. In the audience, his duet partners and comrades waited patiently in the front row as the crowd grew silent in anticipation.

Mila had a copy of Viktor’s score across her lap. With a mighty pen between her teeth, the alpha was ready to jot down notes. Sitting beside her was Georgi, and the dear omega had a bouquet of blue roses to fling onto the stage. And finally, there was Yuri Plisetsky. Bored out of his mind.

“Tonight, Viktor Nikiforov has a real treat for us all,” narrated a TV spokesperson. “He’ll be performing **‘** _Stay By My Side’,_ a song inspired by a haunting love that has grown cold.”

* * *

 

Mari gagged while Minako studied the close-ups that the cameramen and women had on Viktor. That sly but sullen look on his face matched the description of his composition’s title. If Viktor hadn’t been a pianist, he would’ve sold well in the world of acting. The anguish splattered across his features, and his wrinkled appearance sold the theme.

At around the same time, Yuuri held his own performance at a music store. Yuuko leaned across the store counter, elbows propped up while her chin rested over her knuckles. Takeshi sat in a chair. A tuner across his lap. Yuuri tuned carefully, glancing at Takeshi every now and then to make sure that he got the a-okay.

Moments before, Takeshi handed Yuuri back his instrument. Yuuko was about to close the store, and Yuuri was about to part ways. But then, the beta turned around and asked his friends if they wanted to hear a piece he wrote a few weeks ago.

And here they were. Yuuko and Takeshi in the audience. Yuuri up on an imaginary stage. He pressed a finger over one of the many tapes on his viola. For the past eleven years, the tapes have been his saving grace.

 _“This is a song inspired by you two,”_ Yuuri signed.

Takeshi sat a little straighter in his seat.

_“I don’t have a name for it yet. I’m sorry.”_

Yuuko shook her head. To her, any song that Yuuri played was special. Nameless or not.

Yuuri gulped. _“It’s for August the eighteenth.”_

Yuuko didn’t move. She didn’t say anything either. Just a hand covering her mouth. Her scent changed. Takeshi scooted closer to his mate, but Yuuko told him to stay where he was. Yuuko stared at Yuuri with hurt eyes, but she still counted Yuuri off. Like in the old days. The violist shook his head until his glasses flew off and disappeared. When he played his first note, he swore he heard Yuuko cry.

* * *

 

[‘ _Stay by My Side’_](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B7F6oGLRoVtPSEZMd09HTVRFTEU/view?usp=sharing) echoed from the stage. The trinkling trail of notes hung in the air like drops of rain. An easy tempo steadily grew in strength as Viktor, too, grew stronger. His eyes scanned for his lost love, the being that used to haunt his dreams and memories.

Viktor sold his character. His attention darted between the piano keys and the audience. Chest heavy, Viktor briefly made eye contact with Yakov, who was behind the curtain on the left wing. Yakov didn’t look disappointed. On the contrary, he was deep in thought over the emotions that bounced off the piano keys.

Did Yakov know _whom_ this was decided to? Viktor was going to keep his little secret to the grave. But even so, this performance was by no means flashy. It was humble, but you had to be humble so that someone could walk by your side.

* * *

 

For Yuuko and Takeshi, there would always be a little person walking by their side. Whether the triplets were there or not, this little person followed Mommy Yuuko and Daddy Takeshi wherever they went. Crouched behind them when scary strangers passed by, goofing off in the grocery cart while buying produce for dinner, and snoozing over a patch of clean music sheets after an eventful day.

Yuuri captured that feeling through the warmth of his viola. He could feel the resonating heat that calmed the atmosphere. A gentle love that befitted a mother and a father. For August the eighteenth. For his special little birthday.

Takeshi eventually stopped paying attention to the technical side of the performance. The initial fear he had melted away, and Takeshi’s aching heart was able to find peace after almost six years since the incident. Close to him, Yuuko had tears streaming down her cheeks. Unable to hold back, Yuuko buried her face into her hands as the sweet melody lulled her over like a child embracing his parent after a long, long day.

* * *

 

Around six years ago, Yuuko and Takeshi left the doctor's with exciting news. They were parents and what else? Both of them were pregnant with children. Takeshi had the triplets while Yuuko had a soft, baby boy resting inside her.

Yuuri remembered having a video chat with his friends that night. Takeshi showed off his belly, and Yuuko batted it away as she showed her belly. Then, the two expecting-parents asked Yuuri who looked better. Not wanting to start a fight, he said that both of them looked great.

Those were good times.

Every day since, Yuuko would look in front of a mirror and touch her belly. Some days, she thought she felt a little kick or a little nudge from her baby boy. Of course, it was too early for any of that, but it didn’t hurt to pretend. Takeshi did his fair share of teasing during those mornings or late nights as Yuuko watched her baby bump grow.

After ten weeks, she and Takeshi had changed quite a bit. Naturally, Takeshi grew much larger, but Yuuko grew large too as she hugged and kissed her baby bump at every chance she got.

It wasn’t just because she was going to be a parent and a mother to four beautiful children. To know that someone like _her_ could have a child brought more joy than Yuuko would ever imagine. She wore her happiness every day, and she was proud to show her baby boy to the world. He was going to be strong just like his mother and gentle just like his father. Yuuko was sure of that.

But on the twelfth week, _on August the eighteenth_ , Yuuko leaned over the store counter when a vice-grip squeezed her insides one afternoon. Panting, she called out to Takeshi and her mate stumbled out from the back. His instincts blew off the charts. His mate was in pain, and Yuuko wasn’t sure why. Finding a chair for Yuuko to sit on, Takeshi went through the motions of his instincts. Rubbing his mate’s shoulders, comforting her swollen feet, and resting an ear by Yuuko’s baby bump. Yuuko bit her bottom lip until it bled. Takeshi grabbed a box of tissues, and Yuuko patted down her injury.

Everything seemed okay. Just a minor a cramp. Nothing serious. Yuuko managed a weak chuckle as she leaned down to kiss Takeshi clumsily on the nose. As soon as she moved, a snap ruptured inside of her. Takeshi didn’t hear it, but he saw the look in his mate’s eyes.

Takeshi called for an ambulance. Ten minutes later, Yuuko was wheeled onto a stretcher. Takeshi drove behind the ambulance and at the hospital, he tried to keep Yuuko calm for their son’s sake. As soon as she heard the word “son”, Yuuko broke down into tears and desperately hugged her baby bump.

A distressed alpha scent was so _foreign_ to Takashi. He hugged his baby bump, and the fear wafting off of him heightened Yuuko’s anxiety as she clung onto hers. A nurse had to separate the couple, and Yuuko howled for her mate while several nurses had to hold Takeshi back. Three omega nurses tried to calm Takeshi down, telling him that the stress wasn’t good for his body. Takeshi snapped back that the stress wasn’t good for Yuuko, and he demanded to know what was going on.

Within twenty minutes, Takeshi saw Yuuko walk out from the examination room. Yuuko wasn’t walking properly. She dragged her feet, shuffling oddly. When she saw Takeshi, Yuuko made a beeline to her mate’s baby bump. With a shaking hand, she touched it before sadly touching her own. Takeshi reached out to touch Yuuko’s, but Yuuko shied away from the touch. That was when Takeshi knew.

* * *

 

“What do you mean you’re going to retire?” Yuri’s voice was surprisingly soft after the charity performance.

Viktor didn’t meet Yuri’s gaze.

“It’s my decision to make, _and there’s nothing in this world that can change it.”_ The last bit was more to himself than to anyone else, and Yuri was sure that he was the only one that heard it.

Even if he didn’t entirely respect the pianist, there was something jarring about seeing a legend slowly fade into the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll be my last update for a while. I have to prepare for tests and for Spring Break. I'll come back to this story in 2 weeks. Promise~! I might type an extra big chapter for the next update ^>^


	5. Stay Close to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I knew you were going places,” Phichit whispered, bumping his fist softly against his phone’s screen.
> 
> [also, it took 5 chapters to sum up episode 1 of the anime. this is definitely a slow-burn fic]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I lied. Chapter 5 doesn't come out in 2 weeks. It comes out right now. Heyo~
> 
> Thank you for all the support and love for this omegaverse. When I started this fic, I didn't think that so many people would like it so much. I didn't think I would write so much for this story, since I'm really iffy around multi-chapter stories. With this fic, the story comes out easily and I know what I'm doing. That's a good change of pace for a spotty writer like me. ~^>^~
> 
> *the longest chapter in this fic so far. 13 pages of pure goodness. over 7K words of goodness*

Flashing lights. Projecting voices with mics and cameras. Loud bodies that questioned more and more. Viktor averted his gaze and sunk into the background as interviewers shot him, left and right. More questions, a deeper explanation, and just a blistering amount of commotion that no one wanted to be at the center of.

Mics shoved up to his face. Viktor couldn’t escape. Pinned in a cage as people pointed and closed in on him. Trapped behind invisible iron bars. A prisoner’s chain weighed him down and choked Viktor from the inside-out. Everywhere he turned, more and more people came up. Questioning his decision, demanding for an explanation, and tightening the thin gap between Viktor and his screaming thoughts.

Instinct told him to scram, run for the hills, and never look back. Instinct told him to lash out, snarl so that people would back away. Instinct told him to attack, but Viktor skillfully buried his hand deep into his pocket while his nails pierced his palm until it bled. With the best mask to wear, Viktor answered the never-ending questions to the best of his ability. A lie was never hard for his tongue. A lie came out simply, like a breath of fresh air or like a thirst for the truth when one was particularly dry. What made a lie dangerous was not the lie itself, but the steps leading up to the lie. The flicker of one’s eyes, the desert in the back of the throat, the uneasy fingers, the sweating palms, and the smile that conveyed uneasiness on every level. Viktor wore his mask well. No one batted an eyelash when he held his smile a little too long.

Except one person. Yuri. The blonde youth narrowed his eyes and pushed interviewers out of the way so that he could get to Viktor. Hiding behind your mask was one thing. Hiding your scent was something else. Yuri smelled the lies. He didn’t know how or why, but his nose told him that Viktor wasn’t truthful. Maybe it was the imbalance in Viktor’s scent, or the shift to something mellow when Viktor’s scent was usually spicy and overpowering. It was the little things, and Yuri’s youthful nose picked it up sooner than anyone else.

 _“Bullshit.”_ Yuri pointed at Viktor, and the alpha glanced at his junior with a fraction of unease. Adopting a similar stance that he once did for a certain tearful individual in a restroom stall, Yuri’s voice started off as a mutter before escalating into a scream. Okay, he didn’t scream. He came very close to doing one. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but there’s no way in Hell that you’re retiring. What would the world think? ‘ _World Renowned Pianist Decides to Retire ‘cause He’s A Crybaby?’_ Is that what you want to be remembered as?”

 _“Yuri.”_ Behind the youth was a pissed-off Mila, and her hair color matched her attitude perfectly. Georgi tried to calm the female alpha, but Mila brushed Georgi to the side as she muttered things under her breath.

Yuri gritted his teeth, knowing well that it wasn’t his place to say any of this. He may’ve been a double-bass prodigy, but his accomplishments paled compared to Viktor’s unbeatable records. Viktor had a little over a decade of experience over him, and Yuri wasn’t even close enough to sit next to the golden pedestal that supported Viktor since he was five. But even so, _distinguished or not,_ someone had to say something. If that someone had to be a feisty prodigy like Yuri, himself, so be it. Better to do the thing that no one wanted to do than stand aside, watching a masterpiece crumble and fade away like nothing.

Again, Yuri didn’t entirely respect Viktor, but he at least had some admiration towards the pianist. To see a legend quit at the height of their prime was a sin, and Yuri had seen one too many legends do the same thing. He wasn’t going to let Viktor join the ranks, and he was damn sure that all Viktor needed was motivation. If no one could beat Viktor at his little game, then Yuri would have to accomplish the impossible.

“If I win the next GDC in both categories, say goodbye to your little retirement plan.”

Flashing cameras. A hurry of mics to record the fiery words etched from Yuri’s lips. Zoom feature on as Yuri’s cool determination was captured in high definition while Mila fumed in the background and shouted that Yuri was an idiot for even challenging Viktor. A spunky idiot, but still an idiot. Nonetheless. Yuri watched Viktor. The alpha’s scent grew stronger, and a little voice in Yuri’s head told him to stand down. Stand down and try again when he had more winnings under his belt. No, Yuri stayed firm and didn’t back down. That was the mark of a challenger. Never back down on your words.

A smirk rode over Viktor’s lips. “If _I_ win, what will _you_ do?”

“You can retire your ass off, and I won’t bother you about it ever again.”

In the back, Georgi shook his head because of Yuri’s indecent word choice. On live television, no less. Yuri’s words were broadcasted all over the world, and there were so many other words he could’ve used instead. Next to him, a sly grin tugged Mila as her anger tapered off. She may’ve been offended by Yuri’s stance against his senior, but the competition idea with its heavy bets caught her heart and Mila couldn’t deny. She had a thing for competitive sparks and for the first time, she saw a hint of one ignite in Viktor’s pleasant eyes. It was just for a moment. An electric spark shot across the alpha’s gaze, making him more intimidating than people realized.

“I accept your proposal.” Viktor stuck out his hand for Yuri to shake. “Here’s the catch.”

“Always with the catches.” Yuri rolled his eyes. He reached out and held Viktor’s hand. “If you need a handicap that badly, I’m not going to stop you.”

The usual friendly smile pressed itself over Viktor’s face. The same signature grin that Viktor was known for on news articles. “For the both of us, we won’t be doing this solo. We’ll have to form a duet or more.”

Yuri tried to yank his hand free, but Viktor didn’t let go. His grip tightened immediately.

Now, Yuri was the one that was trapped. Now, Yuri was the one with flashing cameras and pushy mics. He let his guard down. He let Viktor get the upperhand when it was supposed to be his deal. Yuri cursed and weighed out his options. _A duet or more?_ Yuri was capable of winning this on his own. He didn’t need anybody to help him. Throw in fast and dramatic solos, and Yuri knew that he had the win. Throw in a partner or two, and Yuri was positive that Viktor would take the lead. But, Yuri had seen Viktor practice long enough to know that the pianist liked working alone as well. Oh, the alpha worked well with a partner or with a small ensemble, but he never wore the same vibe.

Viktor was more down to earth, more cautious about a multitude of things and frankly, duller than an average pianist. Only in solos did Viktor really shine. Those were the performances that were written down in history, and Yuri was beginning to understand why Viktor wanted to add the roadblock. Solos were way too easy for the both of them. If they were going to grow as musicians, they had to branch out and realize that music was not a one-man team. Not to mention, Yuri had to say that he gained a little more respect for Viktor after that. Hey, Viktor was also giving himself a disadvantage, and that spoke more to Yuri than the implied taunts that Viktor sent his way.

So if Viktor was going to be mature about it, it was time for Yuri to step up his game. He grasped Viktor’s hand just as tightly as the former did for him earlier.

“Deal.”

The handshake went down in history.

 _“No deal,”_ Yuuko signed, hands shaking in erupting fury. She refused to look at anyone, especially Yuuri. Takeshi watched the clock carefully and nudged his mate to loosen her temper so that they could go home. Yuuko wasn’t having any of it. She slammed her palms over the store counter and Yuuri flinched. He didn’t need to hear the crash to know that he was in deep trouble. He poked the floor with the tip of his bow, testing the waters. The waters were too deep to test, and a storm was surging right in front of him. Typhoon Yuuko had finished her rainfall and was ready to strip the earth with her snappy winds. Yuuri braced himself.

What was he more afraid of? Yuuko not saying anything, or Yuuko signing everything she wanted to say? Or perhaps, was he afraid of the words that Yuuko didn’t say as she signed?

Moments before, Yuuri had finished playing his original composition to his friends. Takeshi gave him a standing ovation and rated him with six katsudons out of five. Scratching his ear, Yuuri bowed his head and thanked his friend. Yuuko slammed everything that she could touch with her palm, and she was pretty much like a percussionist as she showered praise and good words over her best friend. One hand hammered the store counter. The other was perched over her belly, as if her baby boy never left and was cooing in happiness over the little present Yuuri played.

Just when the spirits were high, Yuuri aimed low.

_“I hope you two don’t mind if I come here often.”_

“It’ll never be a problem,” Takeshi replied, reeling his excitement back in. “Don’t worry about it.”

 _“It’s not going to be every other day,”_ Yuuri signed. _“I’ll stop by every day. Morning ‘til the store closes.”_

A frown tugged Takeshi, but his head was still in the clouds. Yuuko saw right through Yuuri’s facade, and she stripped her wings so that she could meet Yuuri on earth. Face to face as equals.

“You didn’t come to Hasetsu just to visit.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. Yuuko narrowed her eyes when Yuuri looked away. She was well-aware that Yuuri noticed her comment. “Yuuri, you’re the principal violist for the Tokyo Symphony. People will start questioning if you don’t show up.”

Yuuri suddenly got very interested with the tapes on his viola, and Yuuko was at the end of her wire. There were certain things that she knew about her friend. One, Yuuri never ignored something unless it was on purpose or he didn’t notice. Yuuri noticed her comments. Yuuko saw how his eyes flickered quickly from her lips to outer space. He was tense, gripping onto his viola like it was the only thing he could count on. It was the only thing that didn’t fail Yuuri, and Yuuko was disappointed that her friend found comfort in an inanimate object. What did Takeshi’s friendship or her friendship mean to Yuuri? Were they so distant after all these years that Yuuri kept a happy mask on just in case he ran into his old friends again?

Locked in the middle of the tension, Takeshi scooted out of the way so that Yuuko and Yuuri could have their own private moment. His eyes watched the clock. He and Yuuko should’ve been at home already. That catches us up to the present. Yuuko having a staring contest with her reflection on the store counter. An antsy Yuuri before the slaughter. A mature Takeshi texting to his daughters that Daddy and Mommy were coming home later than usual. As Takeshi texted, he caught sight of Yuuri signing that he had quit the Tokyo Symphony. That he said his goodbyes before moving out of Tokyo yesterday. That he planned on staying in Hasetsu, whether working at the family hot springs or helping out at the music store alongside with his friends.

Yuuko’s eyes were bloodshot when she saw the explanation. One hand over the counter so that she could slam her anger onto something. The other hand perched over her belly, covering her baby boy’s eyes as Yuuko slowly signed her reply. Yuuri and Takeshi both knew that Yuuko could sign as fast as the Devil, but how would that convey Yuuko’s feelings? She signed slow on purpose.

 _“That’s it? You’re done? Throwing it all away. For what?”_ Yuuko shook her head, trying to grasp at the new information she just gained. She started laughing. Takeshi hid behind a music stand, and Yuuri stood at the mercy of Typhoon Yuuko. _“I don’t understand. You love music. You got a scholarship to one of the best music universities in the world. One of the best programs that they had, too.”_ Yuuko shook her head again. Oddly enough, there was a smile on her face. _“You had it all, Yuuri. I remember that you told us that your dream was to be the first beta violist. You’re just going to throw it away? All that time, all that dedication?”_

 _“It’s not that easy,”_ Yuuri signed back. _“You don’t understand.”_

 _“I think I do.”_ Yuuko tapped her forehead with her index finger. _“I might not go to all of your concerts. I might not track every little music-gig you do, but I do have the internet. I’m not dumb. Takeshi and I saw your live performance with the Russian orchestra in Moscow. We saw what happened.”_

Yuuri didn’t reply. Yuuko pressed on.

 _“You spazzed out. I wouldn’t blame you. Having Viktor Nikiforov accompany you on the piano is huge, and that knocked you off your game. I understood that when I saw what happened. What I don’t understand is that ever since then, you haven’t been playing your viola the same way. Tense. Scared. It’s like the last year of primary school all over again.”_ Yuuko looked at Yuuri straight in the eyes, and the latter didn’t look away. _“Yuuri, you’re not the beginner violist that you used to be. You’re so much stronger now, and I’m worried. I’m worried that you’re forgetting that. You’re only focusing at where you came from and not paying attention to the person you are now. You’re not who you used to be, so why do I see the little Yuuri instead of the grownup one?”_

Yuuri didn’t know how to respond back. How could anyone respond back to that powerful speech? He didn’t know what to do. Stood there in front of Yuuko for what seemed like forever before running out of the music store without a goodbye.

Ate dinner with his family and Minako, but the katsudon didn’t taste right. The crispy cutlets were crispy as ever, and the food was terrific as always. The company was splendid, and Minako and his mother scented Yuuri so hard that a stranger would’ve mistaken him as an alpha right off the bat. But under the smiles and cheery stories that Yuuri signed, there sat a sad Yuuri who couldn’t tell the truth.

Because the real Yuuri knew that the truth hurt, and the truth would’ve devastated everybody. His mother and father worked so hard for his education. Minako spent hours off of her free time to teach Yuuri everything that he knew today so that he could apply it to his performances. Mari supported from the sidelines and listened to Yuuri play when he was too shy to play in front of Minako when he was younger. If they knew the truth...They weren’t going to know the truth.

Yuuri signed that he was going to stay in Hasetsu for a while. A much-deserved break from the orchestra world so that he could enjoy his hometown. Minako gave Yuuri an invitation. He could visit her dance studio at anytime if he needed more practice on his dancing skills.

“Your moves are probably rusty since you can’t move all that much during a typical performance. Hey, isn’t the GDC coming up soon?”

Yuuri nodded, mouth full of crispy pork cutlets. The GDC, _or the Global Division Concerts,_ were a series of “competitions” that pitted musicians against themselves and against other musicians around the world. There were two sections or categories that made up the GDC. The first category was the traditional, formal performance. A theme would be assigned weeks beforehand, and the soloist or the duet pair would pick out a song that matched the theme and perform it in front of a panel of judges. Full marks were received if the performed piece matched the theme, if the technicalities of the piece were expressed during the performance, and if the musician or musicians conveyed a message or a story. The first two were always heavier than the last one, but it was no excuse to perform without fun.

The second category was much looser than the first. No better name could describe it than “Musical Interpretation”. The excitable one of the duo, the second category was always filmed and recorded live. For reason, too. With a loose rule structure, participants could choose to do almost anything for the second category. Whether it be doing the usual solo or duet, or perhaps something spunky like a group collaboration with others. It wasn’t a rule, but collaborations were encouraged ever since the second category was initialized in 1993. Group dances, an acapella group, or perhaps a riff-off were just a few of the the things that could be done.

The only requirement was that all the music had to be produced onstage. No pre-recording allowed. An unspoken requirement was that if a group was to perform, every member had to contribute to the music in some way. Whether it was tapping out the rhythm or singing or playing along as the harmony or melody of the piece. Any song could be chosen. Classical, modern, a cover of a popular piece, or an original composition. Much freedom for everyone involved, and the audience was typically more responsive to the second category than the first.

There was only one GDC that came to Yuuri’s mind, and he figured that was the one Minako was talking about. Yuuri had entered the GDC once. Back when he was a junior at Juilliard. It was exciting and scary at the same time. Traveling to four different countries to perform both categories at each. At the end, all the points were tallied together and the overall winner and runner-up were decided. Yuuri placed kind of well since it was his first time. Ranked sixth. A higher score than a lot of people, but there was still room for improvement. Yuuri had picked a difficult piece for his first category and since it matched every theme that came his way, Yuuri stuck with it and improved, bit by bit, with each time he performed it. At the GDC Final, he managed to play the song flawlessly. However, after getting averaged with his previous scores, he was lucky to have made it on the stage at all to receive a certificate for his hard work.

As always, Viktor Nikiforov placed and earned another gold for his collection. And like at the end of every GDC, the top six ranks were invited to perform any piece they desired before the GDC officially came to an end. Unfortunately, Yuuri had to return to Juilliard so he couldn’t play his ending piece. He wasn’t upset about that. He was more upset that he couldn’t see Viktor perform in front of his eyes. However, he had to accept the YouTube videos that followed after the GDC. Phichit had fun with those. He had all of Yuuri’s performances saved onto a playlist that he could listen to on the go. Yuuri was embarrassed, to say the least.

The GDC was going to be different this year. After dinner, Mari and Minako showed Yuuri the performances he missed while he was gone. Yuuri saw Viktor play, and he was enamored by the performance as usual. He saw the ending interview and the deal that struck between Viktor and a familiar teen. The same teen that yelled at Yuuri when he was at Moscow. Yuuri’s lower back immediately began to ache, and he asked his mother for a pain killer. Even after seven months, Yuuri’s lower back always ached. Only when he saw the familiar blonde teen. What was his name? Yuuri didn’t need to know. Yet.

 _Viktor’s thinking about retiring too._ Yuuri was on the floor of his bedroom, making angel shapes with his body as he moved his limbs around to shift the crumbled music sheets surrounding him. _I wonder why he is._ Yuuri didn’t fully understand why he, himself, wanted to retire, so he couldn’t use his own judgement to decide for Viktor’s. Besides, he and Viktor were on totally different playing-fields. Viktor was a self-made prodigy that made magic every time he touched piano keys. Yuuri was just a lucky kid who had a dumb wish to one play a duet with Viktor. And when the event actually came around, Yuuri messed up so badly that an intoxicated Viktor had to drag him into a dance battle so that he could forget what happened. At least, that was how Yuuri saw it.

“Knock knock.”

Yuuri waved at Mari as his sister came into the room and sat down in his “nest”.  Her hair was wet because she had finished showering, and a towel was loosely draped over her shoulders as she picked up a crumbled music sheet and smoothed it out.

“Don’t you need this stuff?”

Yuuri shook his head.

“So you thought that all of this would be better as a nest.”

_“Phichit sometimes made nests out of his music sheets.”_

“Yeah, that’s kind of weird.” Mari clicked her tongue and awkwardly lay down next to Yuuri. Honestly, she never understood the appeal behind nest-making. Then again, she wasn’t an omega. But, if nest-making managed to calm someone down from a rough day, then Mari couldn’t see a fault in it. Unless someone started sneaking her clothes to make nests out of them. Good thing Yuuri wasn’t an omega. Mari sniffed her brother just in case. Yuuri wiggled around. “How long are you going to stay in Hasetsu?”

_“Around a month. Two months if I need it.”_

“It’s nice having you around. Mom and Dad missed you a lot. How’s your first year at the apartment?”

Yuuri shrugged.

“I get you. It’s not the same. It’ll never be.” Minako twiddled her thumbs. She reached out for another music sheet and smoothed it out. It was a solo for something. Mari squinted at the title. Italian. But if the title was in a different language, it had to be pretty important. Most of Yuuri’s other sheets had English titles, but this one stuck with its native tongue. Mari sounded out the title. Sounded strange coming out of her mouth. Was there a translation somewhere? Mari slowly tore the nest apart when she discovered two more pages for the solo.

Yuuri definitely did his homework. Fingerings for the high notes he had to reach, little countings here and there to keep him on track, there were long periods of rest, and Mari grimaced when she saw a clef change half-way through the piece. She may’ve known next to nothing about music, but Mari knew that a treble clef was usually assigned to violins and the screech from one pained her ears. Gagging, Mari skimmed through the little note heads and tried to imagine what the piece sounded like. Then again, she couldn’t read notes. Yuuri could.

She nudged her brother until he sat up.

“Did you play this one?”

Yuuri nodded. _“That was my solo when I went to Moscow.”_

“Wow. No wonder I’ve never seen it before.” Mari licked her lips. “What does the title mean?”

Yuuri looked up at the ceiling before signing, _“I’m not sure. I think it means ‘Stay Close to Me’ or something very similar to that.”_

“Sounds sad.” Mari clicked her tongue before setting the sheets aside. Another tally mark drawn in for another awkward interaction. Yuuri didn’t look like he wanted to talk, but Mari wanted him to talk. She didn’t believe in intuition and whatever phrases came after it, but an instinct told Mari that Yuuri was hiding something. She didn’t know how to explain it, but she just knew. Her little brother has been gone from home for a year or more and suddenly, he just shows up one day and decides that he wants a break? It sounded too good to be true. Not to mention, Yuuri was far more social at dinner than ever before.

Mari had to admit that Yuuri was probably very homesick, but the enthusiasm painted over his face was too good to be true. So good that it had to be fake. For the first time that day, Mari saw her real brother. She saw the broody Yuuri that didn’t know how to express what he wanted to express. She saw the scared Yuuri that felt comfortable sinking into the background instead of popping out to make a name for himself. Mari saw her brother for who he was, not the extensive mask that he had been perfecting since childhood. Yuuri had his back towards Mari. He was busy rolling a crumbled music sheet back and forth across his thumb.

Reaching her arm over and around her brother, Mari hugged him.

 _“You know, I haven’t heard you play in a long time,”_ she signed.

_“There’s YouTube for that, Mari. It’s too late to play right now.”_

Mari dug her elbow into Yuuri’s side until he squirmed. _“I want to hear you play that solo from Moscow.”_

_“Another time.”_

_“Tomorrow?”_ Mari traced a question mark over Yuuri’s palm.

Yuuri sighed. _“Maybe. I need some rest right now.”_

Mari poked Yuuri’s nose before leaving. She debated on whether or not to turn off the bedroom lights. Yuuri didn’t look he was going anywhere anytime soon. Murmuring her brother some reassurance, Mari turned off the lights and closed the door softly as she left. In the darkness, Yuuri reached out and found his viola solo from Moscow. Or at least, he thought it was a solo until Viktor came into the picture.

Yuuri pictured that performance differently than how it actually turned out. He saw himself leading the orchestra as the orchestra led him. He imagined himself dancing across the front of the stage as the orchestra serenaded his melody. The dip of his head, the story told from his powerful strides, and the flawless melody that his viola sang would captivate the audience until, _for a moment,_ he reminded them of their national treasure. Viktor Nikiforov. It was a stupid idea.

As soon as he saw Viktor, Yuuri’s mind went blank. He didn’t have the spotlight anymore. The angels thrusted the light over Viktor and harmony was established once again. Yuuri danced in the darkness, tripping over his own feet in disgrace. Fleeing off stage was the only way to salvage his dignity, but did Yuuri have any dignity to save? Most likely, he was blacklisted from the orchestra. He could never come back. By extension, the gate that was open to him closed its doors, and Yuuri was shunned from the music realm. Kicked to the curb and forced to rebuild a house that he spent so long to make within the music realm. Gone from his home, he couldn’t tell anybody. Yuuko’s reaction startled him, and he couldn’t get her words out of his head. Yuuri kept telling himself that tomorrow would be different, but it would never be different because he would carry the emotional baggage to the next day. To the day after that, and until he ran out of days to look forward to.

When he was still in Tokyo, Yuuri thought that he would finally be free in Hasetsu. He was wrong, and the prisoner’s chain around his neck sunk him so much that he couldn’t see the light from above the waves anymore. He was gone, and nothing could break an iron-linked chain. When he walked to and fro, back and forth between the Tokyo Symphony and his apartment room, Yuuri realized that the chains were only weighing him down. No one else had a burden, and Yuuri simply pretended to hover over the murky waters. Enough was enough. He had to throw everything that he cared about away. Hasetsu was his last stronghold, and it was quickly ripping apart at the seams.

 _Mari wants to hear me play._ Yuuri looked at his viola solo from Moscow. He never had the chance to play the solo properly. Never with a piano and only with strings. He would have to look up a YouTube video of Viktor playing the song. But even then, that was hard. He didn’t know how fast Viktor played the piece, or if the alpha did an improv phrase. But a little voice in Yuuri’s head told him to try it out, and he obliged to it. He needed something to lift his spirits, and Yuuri couldn’t wait any longer. He knew that if he played the piece, the iron-link chain that weighed him down would disappear forever.

Scrambling, Yuuri grabbed his viola and busted out of his room. Music sheets at his teeth while Yuuri sprinted down the hall, past the kitchen, through the entrance area, and to the dining hall where the TV stayed. His mother turned around, knitting needles poised in her hands. His father looked up from his newspaper and adjusted his glasses. Minako had Mari’s camcorder when she raised an eyebrow at her adult pupil. Mari didn’t turn her head, but she did turn off the TV with a hint of a smile as she rested her chin over her knuckles.

“Yuuri?” It was Minako who spoke.

Yuuri knew that if he didn’t do this, he would only be ruled by his demons for who knows how long. The guilt, the pain, and the sorrow took turns stabbing him with swords until there was no more blood to bleed. Yuuri knew that if he didn’t do this, he would only be reconfirming the pit of self-doubt that had been under the faucet of his dreams for far too long. If he didn’t do this, he would only be disappointing himself and Yuuri was done with running. He did his running back in Moscow seven months ago, and it was time for him to do what he was meant to do.

Pulling up a video of Viktor’s performance of the song, Yuuri only prayed that he wouldn’t drag his part. What was the tempo? What was the key? His parents watched him patiently, about to hear and see him perform for the first time. Hiroko clutched Toshiya’s hand, and Toshiya squeezed back gently as he nudged his head close to his mate’s. Minako clicked the record button.

Yuuri knew he only had a few seconds. YouTube!VIktor was waving as he walked onstage and towards his piano. Yuuri rested his bow over his viola’s strings. Where words failed, he hoped that music would prevail. Carefully, he glanced over at his phone and saw YouTube!Viktor carefully nod out the tempo. Instinctively, Yuuri’s foot tapped the rhythm as well. Both musicians took a deep breath before diving in.

The crisp depth of the viola rang out as Yuuri ran his bow smoothly over the strings. The vibrato of the long notes gave a warmth as Yuuri leaned back to let his body do what it wanted to do. His feet wanted to move, so Yuuri gently hopped back and forth over his heels as he kept himself in-sync with YouTube!Viktor. The ringing of bells in a far off land as the duet met and circled around the other like a dance before the royals. For a moment, Yuuri saw Viktor. Viktor was here. With him! Playing his half of the song and joining Yuuri as the glorious duet reached the climax as two opposing voices joined together to make the heart sing.

Nothing mattered anymore, except this. Viktor playing the piano with him, and Yuuri serenading him. The spotlight didn’t focus on one, but on the both of them. The leading light tore apart at the middle and waltzed next to Yuuri and Viktor as if they were waltzing with the other. Yuuri was free. Light as a feather during his free-form ballet. Let the rhythm guide his steps as he circled and extended his arm for his duet partner to reach. Twirling in with his light by his side, Viktor took Yuuri’s hand and danced with him. Their instruments disappeared from their grasps and appeared next to each other, serenading the beautiful dance between their masters.

Viktor helped reel Yuuri back into the rhythm when he grew lost and weary. Yuuri didn’t stray far from Viktor, keeping his partner rooted so that he wasn’t swept away by the rising water that threatened to swallow them both in this daydream. Chains no longer at their necks, an anklet with its own cord tied them to the earth. Their chains tangled together throughout the dance as the water reached to their necks. But even so, Yuuri didn’t let go of Viktor. Viktor didn’t let go of Yuuri.

Amidst the dancing and wonderment, Yuuri heard a voice.

**_“Let’s get out of here.”_ **

Yuuri looked around in his daydream. Was that a voice? Truly a voice? Yuuri didn’t believe at first until he heard the voice again. He looked in front of him, and it was Viktor. The water level was up to their noses, and Yuuri couldn’t breathe. He thrashed, but he didn’t let go of Viktor. Yuuri tried to swim up so that he capture his final breaths, but his chains weighed him down. He saw that Viktor was free from his burden, and he looked at Yuuri as if he could be free too. Yuuri shook his head. Pointed at his chain. Viktor swam down and tugged as hard as he could. The iron weakened for no one, and Yuuri knew that Viktor had a time-limit. Viktor couldn’t hold his breath forever, and Yuuri was quickly losing his.

But in this daydream, Viktor refused to leave. He couldn’t say anything, but he motioned that Yuuri couldn’t die. There were still so many things in the world that he hadn’t done yet, and it wasn’t right to rob someone’s life just yet. Viktor tried ripping the chain, gnawing at it with his back teeth. Yuuri shook his head and mouthed that it was no use but then, Yuuri remembered why he was playing this piece. _‘Stay Close to Me’._ Yuuri didn’t just see Viktor.

Swimming down from above was Yuuko and Takeshi. Yuuko tugged hard on Yuuri’s chain and blistered her hands while Takeshi fed Yuuri oxygen so that he wouldn’t slip over the line. Bubbles issued out of Yuuko’s nostrils and mouth, but she didn’t give up. Takeshi cheered for his mate before swimming down to join her in the tug. Muscles sore and exhausted, Takeshi pulled his own weight to break the chain. It wasn’t enough. Down from the surface was the spunky Phichit. He gave Yuuri a salute before joining in on the tug. Mouth near the chain by Yuuri’s anklet, Phichit gnawed as hard as he could to snap the iron. His fingers tried tearing into the chain, but it was still too strong.

Down came Minako, who encouraged Yuuri to tug as well. It wasn’t just a one-man team, and Yuuri had to fight his demons too. Mari soon appeared after Minako. She swam around her brother and blew bubbles into his face before joining the others. She and Minako swam farther down to tug the chain at its middle. Down came Yuuri’s father who hugged Yuuri and told him that everyone was going to free him soon. Just have faith.

The last person to swim down was Yuuri’s mother, and Hiroko held her boy close. Encouraging him to still fight and not to fall into the temptations of his demons. Encouraging him to still hold out because this wasn’t his issue alone. Encouraging him to put faith and trust the ones that cared about him. Encouraging him to not forget where he had come from, and especially to remember the long road that had transformed him into the individual he was today. With Hiroko by the chain, everyone pulled as hard as they could. Yuuri pulled too, kicking up an underwater current as he pulled as hard as he could.

The chain was stubborn and refused to let go, but Yuuri had to do this. No, he didn’t have to. He _wanted_ to.

_I am stronger than what I think. I am more compassionate than I know. I am much more than what my demons tell me. I won’t listen to them anymore._

Within that night, the video was uploaded. Yuuri gave Minako his consent. Within ninety seconds, Yuuko magically found the video and spammed it across her social media pages. Alerting everyone that she knew about the news. Her friend, _her best friend,_ found his direction again. Within a hundred and eighty seconds, Yuuko’s daughters shared the link and did shoutouts to all of their favorite musicians. From there, the snowball effect took form. Within an hour, the Tokyo Symphony’s main page, Twitter, and Facebook shared the video’s link. Congratulating their late principal violist and overjoyed to see one of their main leaders reunite with an old passionate flame.

Within an hour and a half, Phichit saw that an Instagram fan sent him a video link. A link from an old roommate from Juilliard. Setting aside his viola and bow, Phichit perched his phone in front of his music stand and watched the breathtaking performance. For the first time in a long time, Phichit saw a grin riding over Yuuri’s face as he danced and performed a beautiful duet with a YouTube!Viktor.

 _“I knew you were going places,”_ Phichit whispered, bumping his fist softly against his phone’s screen. He sent the video to his and Yuuri’s old violist instructor, Professor Celestino. One view wasn’t enough. Phichit replayed the video, over and over again. He didn’t stop until he memorized Yuuri’s step sequence, bowing, and the immense joy and relief that lulled off of Yuuri as he played. Heck, Phichit spammed his friends with the video’s link and shared it on his social media pages.

The video was trending on YouTube. Ranked sixth while a performance of Viktor’s was number one. However, both videos were soon fighting for first place as the views grew exponentially throughout the night. In Moscow, Mila studied Yuuri’s finger pattern and made notes on her score of the piece as she rewatched the performance. Again and again.

Late into the night, Mila stayed at the orchestra's usual auditorium as she scribbled in tips and pointers until her viola score was painted from all angles with the fine graphite of her pencil. In the comfort of his home, Georgi couldn’t believe that the same violist who made a fool of himself onstage was performing like this for the entire world to see. Okay, Georgi couldn’t get to the original link because it was blocked. He had to wait for Mila to do her magic before he could actually watch to his heart’s content, and to his heart’s content he did.

In the comfort of his grandfather’s home, Yuri snapped a pencil in half when Georgi sent him the video. That face. Those eyes. That instrument. The pitiful stance of the viola fool disappeared from Yuri’s mind. Replaced with the graceful movements and resonating tone quality that silenced Yuri’s nerves. He couldn’t believe it but when he saw the violist’s name in the description tab, he was forced to believe it. Viktor wasn’t his only danger in the GDC. If _Katsuki Yuuri_ entered as well, that meant Yuri had to be up on his toes and ready to fight back.

Even so, he couldn’t hide the chuckle and small smile that appeared over his lips. Katsuki was playing to a YouTube video of Viktor, so it was only fit that Viktor had to see the video too. Yuri gave no warning. He just sent the video’s link and tossed his phone onto his bed. Leaning back in his chair, Yuri realized that finding a duet partner wasn’t going to be as hard as he originally thought.

At the height of the night’s phase, Viktor returned to his apartment in St. Petersburg. Stowing his shoes away and setting aside his backpack, Viktor whistled. A whistle returned from the darkness. Fumbling his fingers across the wall, he found the light switch and came face to face with his dear African Grey, Makkachin. The bird puffed up her feathers and scratched at her cage’s bar until Viktor opened the door. Fluttering out, Makkachin roosted on Viktor’s shoulder and tickled her owner’s cheek with her beak. Viktor scratched Makkachin’s under belly and whistled a tune for Makkachin to copy.

Digging through his fridge for a late-night snack, Viktor didn’t check his phone until he heard Makkachin imitate its buzzing sounds. Someone was texting him a storm. Reaching for his phone, Viktor skimmed through the messages. Loads of people from the orchestra were talking to him. All at once. Viktor weeded through the messages as he poured himself some milk. Makkachin nibbled Viktor’s pinkie playfully when her owner frowned and clicked on Yuri’s message. It was just a link. Fifteen people sent him the same link, but Viktor was more surprised that Yuri was one of them. He clicked on it and waited for the video to buffer.

Soon, the sweet voice of a viola quelled the stormy thoughts in Viktor’s mind. He rolled his head back and closed his eyes. Makkachin sang along to the viola as a piano’s voice trickled in. Viktor opened his eyes. He recognized the piece. He had play this song on the piano many times before, and the violist in the video was using a YouTube recording of his performance as the backdrop as a viola’s voice serenaded Viktor’s playing. No, it wasn’t just singing along. It completed it with improv harmonies and with a mellow tune that no individual could refuse.

Most importantly, the video zoomed in on the violist’s face. Viktor believed that he saw the individual before. At least once. More importantly, it wasn’t just the playing that enthralled Viktor. It was the violist’s eyes. Those young eyes that sparked and went through the fifty shades of passion and love for music. Viktor was captured by those eyes. For the first time in a long time, Viktor was able to breathe a little easier. He replayed the video as he nursed his milk. Makkachin looked up at her owner, cocking her head to the side. She flapped her wings before returning to her cage for the night. Viktor closed the door before sinking into his couch.

Subconsciously, his free hand reached for his neck. His fingers rubbed over one of his scent glands until a pale make-up came off, revealing a delicate pink bite mark that looked as fresh as day. Viktor couldn’t look away from the violist. His name was _Katsuki Yuuri._ Viktor had definitely heard of that name before. Suddenly, a warm and fuzzy feeling comforted Viktor’s rapid heart.

_“I know who I want to play a duet with.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, y'all. You won't get another update until Spring Break is over. [probably going to break that promise]
> 
> This chapter is much more uplifting than the last one, and I hope it wasn't too cheesy or rushed. Did I make y'all cringe? I'm sorry. Again, if you have any questions about this omegaverse, feel free to ask me and I'll answer to the best of my ability. I'm still worldbuilding this verse, so you'll see more social commentary later on~!
> 
> I love how I ended this chapter. Viktor falling in love with the look in Yuuri's eyes. Just like how Yuuri fell in love with the look in Viktor's eyes when he was younger. They're both music dorks, so I guess this is where Viktuuri can finally start to sink in.


	6. Pinocchio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If there’s something that you’re passionate about, don’t let it go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo~! Spring Break is over for me so here is that long awaited next chapter y’all were waiting for. Since I’ve spent the last 5 chapters mostly on Yuuri and his world, I decided to do at least one chapter about Viktor so that y’all can see where he’s coming from in this fic and what world he was exposed to while growing up. Also, I’ll be adding more Georgi and Mila moments throughout the fic because like Takeshi and Yuuko, they’re important as to how they shape their friends and help them become the people they’re known for today. Y’all got to see a bit of that. Well, I hope this chapter isn’t a disappoint and I’ll be getting back into the swing of things when it comes to updating this story.
> 
> I’m still somewhat following the anime plotline, but there are still other things I need to do. I have an idea of how the Viktuuri moments will go, but y’all are welcome to drop suggestions as to what they’ll do when they first meet up or y’all can give Viktor some advice as he treads down an adventure he’s never been on before.
> 
> As always, an underline is an audio. Click on it so you can hear the cool tune!
> 
> Lastly, this chapter is rather close to my heart.

The slick ivory of hundreds of keys ran past little Viktor’s thumb when he first met a piano. The faded keys were rough around the edges, but the smooth center gave the piano character. Love ran the strings and wood together. The gentle dip of each note enticed Viktor’s fingers, motivating him to press another key. Then another key and many more, until he had to be dragged away from said instrument because it was at an antique store.

What year was it? Viktor wasn’t sure, but he believed he was around three or four when he encountered the beloved instrument. The delicate veteran was left to rot away as a collector’s item. No one wanted to play it anymore. How long was the instrument at the store? Even the owner of the shop at the time didn’t know. The clerk didn’t realize that the instrument was there for it was cleverly hidden behind shelves of trinkets and old ornaments.

Yet, little Viktor saw through the shop’s disguise and found what he believed was the key to his existence. At the age of three or four, many adults dismissed their own child’s rambles because the little one was trying to make sense of the world with their own rules and games. Some parents played along. Some parents demanded for the thoughts to stop and change. Viktor’s parents were split down the middle, but his mother agreed to take him to the antique shop every day if he was a good boy.

Some of his earliest memories were in that antique shop. Not just the aged piano that longed to sing. There were little silver candle holders covered in cobwebs and when you tapped them together, a beautiful ding resonated from the core. Cracked bells and the twirling gears of forgotten clocks caught Viktor’s eyes. He held onto his mother’s hand and escorted her around. By now, they both knew everything in the store by heart. With her eyes closed, Mrs. Nikiforov knew exactly where everything was. She knew what the items looked like, what they smelled like, and the brief histories of each and every item that her little boy poked with his fingers. Of course, Mrs. Nikiforov never closed her eyes at the shop.

A mere fraction of light came from a tarnished lightbulb that swung violently over their heads whenever her forehead ran into it. There was only one lightbulb in that shop, and phones didn’t have decent torch lights back then. And if you were very lucky, you didn’t have a torch light because the phones that did were expensive. Mrs. Nikiforov kept a firm grip over her son’s hand.

_ “Viktor.” _ A raspy whisper crept from her lips.  _ “It’s time to go home.” _

“Mama, may I see the piano?”

Mrs. Nikiforov was torn. Her son looked up to her with his youthful eyes. Mrs. Nikiforov loosened her grip. Her son,  _ her Viktor,  _ was basically a clone of his father. The two had the same body structure, the same lisp that originally drew Mrs. Nikiforov closer to her husband, the same facial features that confused her when she encountered one but not the other, and that same godforsaken personality that she knew it wasn’t Viktor’s fault. Viktor tilted his head to the side, wondering why his mother was staring at him with such a peculiar look.

“Mama?”

After a long time, Mrs. Nikiforov allowed her son to see the aged piano before leaving. Watching her son skip and scramble towards the antique thing enraged the snakes that writhed and constricted the veins and arteries in her body. She saw her Viktor fumbling his fingers over the piano keys as he tried to play out a tune. Mrs. Nikiforov nearly broke down in tears. It was as if her husband was playing his poison, but she saw the antidote in her son’s eyes. Despite everything, Viktor had her eyes. Despite everything, he was still  _ her  _ son. And thus, that painted an eternal affair that Mrs. Nikiforov couldn’t escape from as her little boy grew older.

Teenager. Viktor grew up to be a teenager without too much worries. Yet.

Coming into the house one afternoon, he tossed his bag to the side and made his way to the grand piano in the living room. It was a flawless instrument. Each ivory key shone like Christmas morning, and Viktor was the impatient child that wanted his present now. Grabbing spare hair ties from the kitchen counter, Viktor pulled his platinum-- _ not gray, not silver but platinum-- _ hair into a quick ponytail and gathered some piano books into his arms. Flipping through the pages, what did he want to play?

As he thought, the manila pages of the books brushed their memories onto Viktor’s thumb. And when Viktor’s thumb touched a key, the piano suddenly remembered a fond, old memory. Picking a song that he liked, Viktor sat down, played his warm-up chords, and proceeded with his chosen song.

Thirteen. A teenager who had been making music history ever since he was five. Eight long years of dedication, hard work, and building connections with the outside world. At the age of thirteen, Viktor had already traveled to every continent on the planet. Minus Antarctica, of course. The penguins and polar bears would have to make do with CDs and audio recordings for now. At the age of thirteen, Viktor’s room was dressed with more medals and trophies than even the prized athletes that the school coaches groomed. At the age of thirteen, Viktor had been showcased on national TV a hundred and thirty times. Almost everyone in Russia knew his name, and half of that group knew his face. A smaller fraction  _ actually  _ knew him, but that was about ten people. No,  _ five _ . Just five.

Viktor lowered his other hand sadly.

Stopping halfway through his song, Viktor leaned back on the piano bench. His feet kicked the air, like he was kid on a pier and his little feet were kicking up cold water to a local sea bird. Viktor frowned. What was he? Okay, what did he know about himself? He had strange eyes that people had to look twice at before noticing that Viktor was speaking to them. His whole complexion was pale and washed-out, but people were drawn to that because they thought he was an angel that descended to live with humanity.

Viktor shook his head.  _ Those  _ were the opinions of others. What opinions did he have on himself? What did Viktor know about himself? He was a teen. He loved music and especially the piano. He enjoyed working with his father on original compositions. He liked making his mother smile whenever he played her favorite songs. But even though these were all true, it still wasn’t the truth that Viktor wanted to hear.

His mother wanted him to be practical. Don’t depend on anybody and if you had to, depend more on yourself than anyone else. Live a practical life. Have a good paying job, buy a house, find a mate so that you won’t be lonely, but don’t pick a mate because you depend on them for something because that depending-nature will bite your ass later on when you both have a child and the arguments will begin. Viktor was very sure that his mother was conveying her own, personal thoughts about her marriage, but Viktor didn’t say anything to her at the time. His mother was stressed as it was. Coming home late at night, her only joy was seeing Viktor and holding him one more time before he had to go to sleep for a tomorrow.

On the other hand, Viktor’s father wanted the youth to do what made him happy. If music made Viktor happy, do it. If something made Viktor passionate about something, don’t let it go. If someone told Viktor that his dreams would never come true, then Viktor would have to prove them wrong. Viktor very rarely spoke to his father at the time but whenever the two gathered the energy to talk, his father would ruffle his hair, look into his son’s eyes, and tell Viktor that he was proud of him. He was proud that his son,  _ his flesh and blood,  _ was happy. Viktor remembered his father’s hands. Calloused, bruised, and sometimes reeked with smoke or alcohol. Maybe both if it was a bad day. And when Viktor turned his head ever so slightly, he caught sight of his mother and saw her nostrils flare while her eyes darkened.

His father was an alpha, his mother an omega. But by some intervention, they had opposite dynamics. His father was calm, his mother was the storm. His father was silent, his mother never failed to tread dirt over her husband’s name. His father worked for a win-win solution, his mother threatened to take Viktor and leave. His father was a freelancing musician, his mother was a down-to-earth office worker. His father and his mother paid the bills. His father said that he was trying his best, but his mother scoffed and argued that she was supporting the family while  _ he  _ was goofing off with friends and making loose change at a train station. Viktor’s father held him close one night and told him to follow his own dreams. Viktor’s mother hissed and made it very clear of what her wants and needs were.

Viktor remembered his father’s hands. They were even more bruised  _ that  _ night. Purple and red. Swollen fingers and chipped nails. Calloused palms that melted into something soft when his father ruffled his hair one last time. What hurt the most was when he looked into Viktor’s eyes and flinched, backing away slowly with his shattered guitar and bleeding lips. Scratched face, a bulging black eye that would never leave, a nose pointed at a wrong angle, and a haunting look that never left Viktor. The eyes of a man who was scared of his own child. Viktor never saw his father again after that night. For the days afterwards, a numb Viktor would look at his mother’s fingers and notice that the winking gold ring was gone. Like it was never there in the first place.

At the present state of thirteen, Viktor turned his head when he heard the front door open. For a moment, his eyes lit up. Was it his father? Viktor’s chest fell, but he wore his smiling mask when his mother came into the house. She was worn and ghastly with her tattered hair and faded clothing, but she somehow managed a smile. That was when Viktor realized that he and his mother had perfected their masks for each other.

Viktor didn’t want to play on the piano anymore.

His instructor from an orchestra in Moscow,  _ Yakov Feltsmen,  _ came by once a week to train Viktor. In all honestly, Yakov didn’t have anything to teach Viktor anymore, but he still came by once a week so that the youth had a shoulder to lean on. After a long silence during one of the weekly lessons, Viktor told Yakov that he was quitting music. For good. An even longer silence fell afterwards. Viktor had his head against Yakov’s shoulder, and Yakov was staring off into space as his mind digested what he had just heard. After a long time, Yakov hugged Viktor and told him that he was going to miss the youth.

“Before you retire, there is one more concert that I want you to play in.”

Viktor buried his face against Yakov’s sleeve. “I don’t know if I can do this one.”

Yakov sighed. “It’s for a charity event. There will be a charity concert held in Asia, and the director of the event invited you. Personally.” From his coat pocket, Yakov pulled out a red invitation card and nudged it into Viktor’s hands.

In the safety of his room at home, under the light from a flashlight, Viktor opened the invitation carefully. Not leaving stray marks that a foreign envelope was in his room. Only ripping the envelope when he heard his mother pacing in the living room as she watched the nightly news. The creaking of her footsteps set Viktor at ease as he opened the invitation a little faster. An origami crane fell into his outstretched hand. A decorated card that smelled like flowers and tea opened up. In fine cursive, Viktor read the invitation and held it close to his heart. The chance to perform with the Shanghai String Philharmonic. A piano accompaniment needed for an Original Soundtrack that was to be performed for the children of East Asia. A twist on a familiar fairytale.

Three weeks later, Viktor was on a solo flight to the coast of China. Okay, Yakov was with him. Alright, a few students of Yakov’s came along too. A friendly redhead by the name of Mila Babicheva and her quirky companion, Georgi Popovich. Being a budding pianist that grew up playing at his family’s theatre, this was a chance for Georgi to explore the international community of the music realm. For Mila...Viktor wasn’t sure why Yakov brought Mila along. Other than the fact that she was very good at Monopoly and had a good ear when it came to music, little Mila had a way of dissecting what you really felt behind your mask.

When the party landed in Shanghai, Mila pulled Viktor to the side during the luggage pickup.

“Just like in Monopoly, you don’t have a good poker face.” She winked at him, and Viktor wondered how a four year old knew the term “poker face”. Actually, how did Yakov convince the Babichevas to let their daughter travel internationally? The secrets of the Feltsmen had not been passed down to Viktor.  _ Yet _ , anyway. Smoothing out her floral dress, Mila held onto Viktor’s hand like he was her brother and squeezed him a tiny hug. Viktor petted Mila affectionately on the head. The little girl wanted a kiss on the forehead, so Viktor knelt down. Mila gave Viktor a kiss on the forehead too. She had to get onto her tippy toes. “If you’re not happy, it’s okay to frown, Vitya.”

Viktor tensed up. Little Mila helped soften him up with another hug. Georgi rushed around the corner and patted his poor chest when he found his traveling companions. His mouth ran a mile a minute as he dragged his companions back to where Yakov was, and Viktor stood through another lecture as Yakov re-explained the concept of the Buddy System.

“I wasn’t alone,” Mila chirped. “I had Viktor, and Viktor had me.”

Yakov furrowed his brows. “We’re in a foreign country right now. The circumstances are different.”

“Even so, we didn’t technically break the Buddy System’s rules.” Mila had a sweet smile over her face. Georgi and Viktor glanced at each other. Mila was going to be  _ interesting  _ in a few years. If her sharp tongue and strikingly high intelligence was anything to note about.

It was morning when the party arrived at Shanghai. The performance was for tomorrow night. That left Viktor some time to practice with the strings. Better to meet his playing partners now after practicing with them through an ancient webcam.

Viktor’s part wasn’t hard. The Original Soundtrack was mainly a composition for strings, but a piano was needed to hold the group together. Viktor was the glue needed, and Yakov did tell him that it was alright to be in the background. It gave a musician time to look around and experience an untold story that a soloist rarely got to hear. Viktor hoped that Yakov was right.

What felt like two days passed by in six minutes. As if the world was on fast forward, the party moved. Viktor broke from the group to practice with the Shanghai String Philharmonic. His English may not have been the best, but Viktor was able to communicate effectively with the conductor and the fellow violinist, violist, cellist, and double-bass players. Double-bassist? The term came out awkwardly from Viktor’s mouth, but the bass players had a good laugh and told Viktor not to worry about it too much. Then, as if all the strings attached were cut off, everyone became alive during the practice runs. Except for Viktor. He still had his strings attached, but he didn’t know it yet. Nobody knew it yet.

Even Yakov, who came by a few hours later with Georgi and Mila aby his side, didn’t realize it. He gave Viktor a firm pat on the back and told him that he was doing a good job. Mila went around and hugged all the basses and cellos, and Georgi hovered by her and apologized to everyone because of her behavior. The cellist and double-bassist didn’t mind and thought Mila was cute with how she interacted with their instruments. Georgi managed a weak chuckle, but his eyes followed Mila like a falcon’s. His talons were quick to grab Mila when she almost tripped over a cello peg, but Mila was like a red fox. She got up and explored again. Yakov was the overseeing grizzly bear with a warm heart under the wild mesh of fur and claws. Viktor? The alpha pianist was a deer frozen in front of a pair of headlights. His antlers had not yet grown, but little stubs were beginning to bloom.

Why did dynamics suddenly matter to Viktor at that moment? He hadn’t paid attention to the scents before but now.  _ Now  _ the idea was at the center of his mind. A mingle of omega and alpha scents swirled in the air. Both dynamics worked together to make something beautiful. Viktor hadn’t been in this environment since...since his mother and father were still together. Gripping the edge of his music sheet, Viktor played up a smile when the principal violinist asked him a question regarding phrase cues. As the two scribbled over their music sheets, Viktor glanced over his sheet.

Mila was already staring at him. Fingers at the ends of her lips, she curved her smile into a frown and looked away. Like a mirror, Viktor wore the same expression as the reflection he was based off of.

With that, time melted away and it was the night of the charity concert. After a few encouraging nods and a brief cough, Yakov held onto little Mila’s hand and escorted her to their seats in the audience. Georgi stayed behind, helping to wrap Viktor’s long hair into a braid. All the while, Viktor wasn’t sure of what mask to wear. If he smiled, Mila would notice it right away. If he frowned, the media would wonder why he wasn’t happy. What other facial expressions did Viktor know? When did his masks dwindle down to a frown or a smile? He used to have many masks when he was younger, but that was the catch.  _ Those  _ weren’t masks. They were real, genuine expressions that Viktor wore. He didn’t know how to get there. How to turn back the clock and wear the fresh expressions that came so easily in a time where things seemed so simple.

“Break a leg, Viktor,” Georgi mumbled under his breath, securing Viktor’s braid with hair ties. _ “Old theatre saying,” _ he quickly added. He patted Viktor’s shoulder.  _ “Don’t break your leg. Definitely don’t break both.”  _ A close-mouthed grin beamed off of Georgi as he rushed out the of the stage’s Left Wing to sit by Yakov and Mila in the audience. Viktor was alone. He was supposed to stay back until all the string players got to their seats. Then,  _ and only then,  _ Viktor would be able to walk to his piano and hear the thunderous applause before sitting down with the rest of the philharmonic.

_ “You’re like Pinocchio.” _

Viktor turned around. A small boy looked up at him. The bright stage lights barely fell upon the boy, but Viktor could make out the thick-framed glasses that were hitched up on the boy’s nose. Where did the kid come from? Viktor glanced around. There was no way he could’ve gone here unless he was someone’s child, but Viktor was sure that the string players’ families were in the audience. So that begged the question: How did this kid get here? Viktor didn’t hear anybody approach him from behind either. The child was younger than him. How much younger? Viktor couldn’t tell, but the boy spoke to him with surprisingly good English. Were East Asian students taught English this young?

“Sweetie, you really shouldn’t be here.” Viktor knelt down to meet at the boy’s level. The boy didn’t back away, but he simply stared at Viktor in a Mila-ish sort of way. Almost as if he was chipping away the walls that guarded Viktor’s heart. Viktor couldn’t touch his face, but he felt a smile creep over his lips. The one mask that he didn’t want to wear was already tightening over his face. The child backed away. Slowly. Viktor looked down at his hands, and they shook. What was going on? Was there something that everyone else could see but him? Viktor’s heart ached horribly. The monstrous walls that kept it guarded crumbled, revealing a feeble King who had nothing to protect.

Viktor’s throat constricted. His mask was splitting into two. No, it couldn’t end like this. Viktor didn’t need a breakdown now. Not before a performance. Please. He wanted the pain to go away, but Viktor’s own eyes deceived him. Against his wishes, tears spilled. The only person who got to see the mess was this random child that showed up out of nowhere.

_ “You’re like Pinocchio.”  _ The boy’s voice was soft but unsteady. The pronunciation of his words were rounded. The sharp sounds were dull, but Viktor was able to understand what was being said. At first, the boy hesitated a lot before he found a strength to keep on going.  _ “Every time you tell a lie, another mask covers the one before it until all that’s left is a facade of who you used to be. It keeps happening until the mask can no longer hold on. They fall. One by one. Until a broken image is left and around you are the shards that made you. But like Pinocchio, you can be real. You  _ **_are_ ** _ real. A wooden heart doesn’t stop beating. It grows and grows until it blossoms a real heart for its user to wear. You can’t build back an original with broken shards, but you can build back a fixture that was stronger than it was before. Pain doesn’t serve as the strings that puppet your every move. It’s the adversity that all humans face before they can be their own masters. You’re  _ **_like_ ** _ Pinocchio,  _ **_but you don’t have to be.”_ **

Radiating from the child was something that Viktor couldn’t describe. Whether the boy was an angel in disguise or a Pinocchio turned into a real, living boy, the kid tilted his head and told Viktor that the performance was going to start soon. So wipe back the tears. Pull off that old mask that you found at an antique store. Rise and be the living, breathing you that you were meant to be.

_ “I hope we can play a duet together one day,”   _ the boy mouthed. He bowed his head and disappeared into the darkness. Viktor ran after the boy. Beyond backstage, the boy was gone. Vanished. As if he was a ghost from Viktor’s past that came forward to remind the pianist of the youth he was then and the youth he was now.

Oh well, Viktor had a performance to do. He hoped that the kid remembered his promise of a duet.

Lights down. Curtains pulled back. Strings at the ready. Viktor by the piano. Everyone sat down. Viktor looked to the conductor and caught his signal. Nice and easy. A gentle tempo that shouldn’t be hard to keep up with. An equally gentle rhythm that still had its quirks. Viktor could do this. He  _ can  _ do this. At the conductor’s command, Viktor steadied his hands.

“Tonight, the Shanghai Strings Philharmonic will be performing an original piece titled  [ Tears in the Crowd ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD2Tc54ByvA) . Guest pianist, Viktor Nikiforov, will be playing accompaniment.”

The conductor counted Viktor off. He approached the piece slowly. Holding and releasing the piano’s pedal gently as the light knocks of his notes popped the silence with gradual strength. The strings followed swiftly in this slow and easy waltz. Violins holding back to let the violas sing through. The cellos backing up the low drum of the basses as a meadow in a forest or the calm of the sea came to mind in the audience. The gentle swings of a hammock on a late Spring morning, the birth and rebirth of a loved one after an endless day, and a fallen puppet with its strings cut too short.

Was Viktor the puppet in this case?  _ Perhaps so. _ Each trouble along his childhood sliced another string shorter in this puppet game that Viktor had performed for his mother for all his life. A forever dancing game filled with mimicry and imitation to keep a well-knit balance in the family’s order. Dancing to gather the praise of his mother. Holding back and fighting against her strings so that he could reunite with his father and spend those lazy afternoons hearing his father hum while he strummed on his guitar. It all seemed so foreign, but Viktor connected each crescendo and decrescendo to some rhythm that altered his life.

When the violins came through to speak those comforting words that helped the blind see, the deaf hear, and the down to look up, Viktor felt weights slide off his shoulders and and fall into an abyss that he didn’t have to satisfy anymore. With his own strength and with the strength of those who never gave up on him, Viktor was able to rise again.

Yank off the strings of his mother’s influence. Yank off the strings of her oppression and hate. Yank off the strings that made Viktor fear the adult that he was supposed to trust. Yank off the strings that blinded Viktor’s eyes. Yank off the strings that deafened the kindness that was meant for him. He had spent so much time tap-dancing for someone else, that he never stopped to take a break to let himself heal.

In this dream state, Viktor pulled off his shoes and rubbed his sore and swollen feet. The wounds reminded him of his father’s hands. Always bruised and calloused. Was his father also tap-dancing to gain approval? Playing the guitar to heal the woes and lull the senses to sleep after a long, tiring day. What reward did his father get? Pain and never a word of thanks or a compliment for being the loving individual he was. And ultimately, Viktor’s father was free from the puppet strings that had choked him for as long as Viktor was alive. In that moment, Viktor felt his father’s pain and wished he could’ve done something sooner.

The song ended with a few final notes from Viktor in an almost solo manner. The strings closed in softly and bid the fairytale to sleep. There were tears in Viktor’s eyes. He didn’t wipe them away. He wore the tears proudly as he got up and bowed along with the string players for a job well done. Wherever his father was, Viktor only hoped that he was doing well.

What a memory to wake up to. In the present light, twenty-seven year old VIktor Nikiforov was in the bathroom at his apartment. He looked at himself in the mirror. He saw his father look back at him in the reflection, but his mother’s haunting eyes looked at him with a blank expression. What to do? What to do?

Viktor splashed cold water over his face before scratching his neck. His fingers traced over a seven month old bite mark. Pink and fresh like it was brand new. From his bathroom counter, Viktor grabbed the usual makeup to conceal a hidden passion that he wanted to hide. That no one needed to know about.

_ “If there’s something that you’re passionate about, don’t let it go.” _

Viktor’s hand merely hovered over the usual makeup. He hadn’t heard his father’s voice in over ten years. Viktor looked at himself. Looked at the bite. Looked down at the makeup. Looked back at his reflection and saw the eyes and features of a teenaged Viktor that was held together with invisible puppet strings. Viktor managed a smile and wiped the tears off of his reflection. Viktor pushed the usual makeup aside.

Viktor was like Pinocchio,  _ but  _ he didn’t have to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who was that kid that spoke to Viktor??? I know y’all will figure it out. Thank you again for all the support, and I’ll get the next chapter out some time later this week.
> 
> Even if this becomes a sad story, I'll strive to give it the ending that it deserves.


	7. If You Close Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mila held a blank expression. “Hey asshole, if you’re going to apologize, say it loud enough for me to hear.”
> 
> Yuri smirked. “Should you really be calling someone ‘asshole’ when they’re trying to apologize?”
> 
> “Only because I know that you can handle it,” Mila teased.
> 
> “Okay.” Yuri slouched in his seat. “Mila, I’m sorry for blowing up and being a little bastard. Happy?”
> 
> “Did you really have to curse?” Mila batted an eyelash. “You know, Georgi and I have been thinking about starting a swear jar-thing. Gotta keep your mouth clean somehow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not updating since...Monday? I have been busy. Busy making AMVs and starting up a Tumblr account. Sorry that y'all had to wait so long for this update! I'm hope it makes up for all the waiting y'all had to endure. >.<
> 
> More world-building in this chapter! Yay~ I was in a rush to finish this chapter. Somehow, I managed to add 6 pages to this 12 page chapter since this morning. That wasn't easy, but I managed. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter as much as I did with writing it. I loosely based it off my own experience in a symphony, so I feel and understand where Yurio is coming from when he thinks about the Moscow Symphony.
> 
> A little tip about this omegaverse: Restrooms are not separated by gender but by dynamic. It may seem strange to us, but it's a cautionary tactic to keep omegas and alphas protected from each other. That way, an omega could safely hide in a restroom when a heat occurs and don't have to feel afraid because there are no alphas in the restroom they're in.
> 
> If an incoming rut has started for an alpha, they can dash to their restroom and stay there until their hormones subside somewhat and until it's safe for them to walk out in public without having the fear that they might attack somebody. There are no specific restrooms for betas so they are allowed to go into either, but it's generally wiser to go into an omega restroom. If they go into an alpha restroom, some alphas may suspect that the beta is an "omega".
> 
> For young children, they can go into either restroom until their first 'turning'. Whichever one they frequent more is up to the child's preference.

“ _Does it almost feel like nothing has changed at all?”_ The adorable little radio sat on the edge of a window sill, contemplating whether or not to fall. The chorus ringing from its speaker tipped and wobbled the poor device until it was at the edge of extinction. By some grace, the radio didn’t fall. It continued to sing, and its message was heard loud and clear in the silence of the practice room. A welcoming sun shone through the dark and troubled clouds outside, basking the radio under a ray of light. At once, the radio’s voice became crisp and clear as it finished a chorus and went straight into the second verse.

The radio was an ancient creature in the realm of SoundCloud, YouTube, and MP3. Faded and rubbed fingerprints littered its fine metallic case. The little red knob on the side was smooth from wear-and-tear, and it often got jammed if it hadn’t been turned in a while. The honing cursor across the cracked screen dialed onto a channel, but it was unreliable these days. A sudden radiowave change threw the cursor in for a loop as it sprinted from one side of the screen to the other. A skinny antenna stuck out like a prick, bended at the middle and striking the sky at a sixty-two degree angle. Though a wheezing veteran in a world stuck on the internet, the radio had seen more history than any other webpage.

Tarnished and forgotten on a window sill, the little radio continued to sing until footsteps echoed in the distance, causing the audio to crack and crumble. The practice door swung open. Mila poked her head in, and the little radio squeaked and tuned in to find a jingle. Crossing the room, Mila picked up the radio and lowered the antenna. Its voice died. The sprinting red cursor froze and slid to one side of the radio’s screen. Mila rotated the knob on the side, keeping the gear loose and usable.

 _“Where’s the rubbing alcohol?”_ Mila whispered, scratching off a stain with her fingernail. Stiff in the shoulders, Mila pocketed the radio and left the practice room. Closing the door behind her, Mila hummed a soft tune as she made her way to Yakov’s study. A library of music awaited her. Along the walls on the way, history flooded Mila’s senses as she walked down the road to where it all began.

The Moscow Symphony was one of the most prestige of the bunch in East Europe. Founded in 1984 by Yakov Feltsman-- _a violinist then, a full-time director now--_ the symphony group soon rose in respect and fame amongst the rivaling music groups in Europe. It was no small task, no easy feat. In 1984, the symphony at the time only had three violinist, a violist, a cellist, and two bassists. Just a bunch of street performers that came together to implement some peace and order in the heart of the Soviet Union. During troubling times, music proved to be an escape. An escape from the world of dynamics, politics, pain, and suffering. The sound of a septent on an early morning proved to be the escape people needed from the walls that were towering from above.

News about the symphony trickled and dispersed slowly through the mouths of bystanders. It wasn’t until 1889 did the group finally reach global recognition. On the night of the Berlin Wall’s collapse, Yakov and his group serenaded the joyous reunion of both the East and the West. Photographs captured their performance as a swarm of people hugged and cried in rejoice. A photograph of a young Yakov on the wall itself captured the intense buzz that engulfed the continent as the man’s violin pierced the Great Divide with its notes. That black and white picture was framed and set over present-day Yakov’s office table. Written in cursive over the black and white were the words _‘Music tore down The Wall’._

It was a saying that a younger Yakov had said off the cuff when he was interviewed with the small Moscow Symphony. Since then, it was a trademark and a flood of musicians stepped in to join the group. That was the high of Yakov’s life, even though he was growing crooked with a permanent limp in his strides. But even so, he found love and married not only a formidable double-bassist rival, but a dear friend. Even so, the students Yakov taught became his and Lilia’s children. Miscarriages were frighteningly common in female alphas, and Yakov chose not to let Lilia go through that pain. So after almost two decades of marriage, the alphas decided to adopt a little girl from a foster care system.

In the present, Mila dug through her pockets for a key. Well, she fished a ring of keys. A key for every practice room, a key to the house, car keys, a key for a forgotten combination lock, and a key to Yakov’s office. As a conductor-in-training, Mila very quickly recognized when Yakov needed alone time with his violin and when he needed the door locked before he brutally murdered a _certain_ piano-prodigy, who kept showing up late to practice.

Hearing an audible click after inserting a key, Mila opened the door slowly and sniffed the air. Though it had been almost half a year since Yakov was in his office, the room still had his comforting scent. The rosy polish on the office table didn’t have a speck of dust, and Yakov’s music library was sorted, organized, and tidied along the mahogany shelves that hugged the room. Yakov’s conductor’s baton was cased and placed on top of his squishy rolling chair, and Mila did her routine check around the office before strolling over to the case.

She kept her hands in the pockets of her gray hoodie. If Mila didn’t, her hands would’ve ripped the case open so that she can wave the baton around like a _real director_ and conduct an orchestra with a swift flick. Wouldn’t that be a dream? She could see the headlines. _‘A New Face: Mila Babicheva leading the Moscow Symphony!’_

It was a nice thought, but it was ill-will to take the position now. Yakov may’ve been a music veteran, but he wasn’t planning on retiring anytime soon. If he could, he would conduct while in his grave. Despite the laughter that popped out of Mila when she thought of a zombie!Yakov with his conducting baton, Mila dropped her laughter when she saw a taxi car drive up to the concert hall. Looking through an office window, Mila squinted to see the people who were two stories below her. There was the driver and his comical hat. There was an elderly man with a feather on his felt hat. A violin case caught Mila’s eyes. No other instrument came to her mind except the violin because.... _Because she saw Yakov and why was there a feather on his felt hat?_

Mila had better things to think about. More importantly, who was that youth standing beside Yakov. A stranger with a cello case strapped to his back followed the old director into the concert hall, and a fluttering warmth threatened to make Mila grow soft. She punched her arm and skipped out of the office to reunite with an old friend. She left a little radio behind. It sat next to an old photograph of Yakov, and it was singing the sweet Blues.

Downstairs, Yakov dodged a clingy Georgi as his old and new students poured out from practice rooms and halls to welcome him back home. _This_ was worth it. Eager faces looking up to him and welcoming him after a long, long journey. A joyous reunion that brought back the missing piece in a puzzle. Faint memories of the Berlin Wall nuzzled into Yakov’s mind, but those memories swam away when he looked up and caught the eyes of Lilia. She stared back at him. Double-bass in her arms and her bow attached to a loop on her waistcoat. Though it seemed like they were staring at each for quite a while, it was merely a brief glance before Yakov broke eye contact to introduce his newest student.

Mila was on the last stair step when Yakov directed everyone’s attention to the mysterious dark-haired youth behind him.

“This is Otabek Altin of Kazakhstan.” Yakov coughed afterwards. It was his little way of alerting a new pupil to stand under the introductory spotlight. Otabek drummed his fingers over his cello case’s straps and gave a noticeable nod to everyone.

“Cello.”

There were some murmurs. Otabek could’ve done a pun on the word “Hello” since he was a cellist, or he merely wanted everyone to identify him as a cello. Either way, it wasn’t rare to hear musicians refer to themselves as their instruments and a good joke wasn’t bad for an introduction. After a brief first-meeting, Otabek fell back from the spotlight and Yakov stepped under it as he gave brief news about the upcoming events for the symphony.

“The Global Division Concerts are upon us. Those who will be participating, come see me in my office for registration forms. That will be all.” Like the Red Sea, the people in front of Yakov parted as he gathered his things and trooped up to his office to unpack. Mila waved at Yakov when he came close. Mila leaned against the staircase’s rail..

“Lilia took your place as the Director while you were gone.” She had her arms behind her back, and a sincere smile radiated off of her face. “She conducted flawlessly, _but_ I’m glad that you’re back.”

Yakov stared at Mila as if she suddenly sprouted wings or horns. Mila’s eyes flickered from Yakov’s face and to his hands before going back to Yakov’s face. The absence of a wedding ring strained Mila’s heart, and her smile fell as she looked away and studied the new cellist from Kazakhstan. Yakov cleared his throat and patted Mila’s shoulder when he passed by.

_“Where’s Viktor?”_

_“He might show up if I text him that you’re back,”_ Mila whispered, hoping that Yakov would stay by her a little longer. Mila wasn’t one to outwardly want affection from the people she cared about, but she hadn’t seen her teacher in half a year and seeing him again made her family complete. Yakov sensed that and gave Mila a bit of a hug before he had to go. Luckily, Mila was still leaning. At least the railing caught her just as her emotions threatened to spill. Threatened to spill they did, and Mila had to remind herself that alphas weren’t supposed to cry.

“Mila?”

The alpha tensed up and lowered her head. She saw the outline of Georgi’s sandals, and a spicy scent wafted off the omega when he reached out a comforting hand. Mila backed away and rubbed her eyes.

“It’s nothing. _Just allergies.”_ Mila didn’t smile, but she did put on a show when she poked Georgi’s forehead playfully. Alphas weren’t supposed to cry, but could an alpha really hide everything from an omega? It was damn near impossible, and Georgi played along with Mila’s act until she felt comfortable enough to pull down her walls. During moments like this, Mila wished that she still had her little radio. The device was up in Yakov’s office, belting away jingles and tunes to welcome its master home.

Alas, when a master comes home after a journey, the journey doesn’t end right there. The master pulls off his coat and fastens it around his child before letting them go. As the dark horse and as the fresh meat in the kitchen, Otabek had a lot to learn if he was going to be a cellist in the Moscow Symphony, His introduction alone already drew some people weary, and it didn’t help that his resting face was as stern as Yakov’s. A smile wouldn’t have hurt, but why smile when people were afraid? That didn’t suit well in Otabek’s mind but if he played his cello, he knew it would set everyone at ease. At least, it would set the cello section at ease. Decent chair arrangements were hard to come by, and the whole section’s pecking order needed to be reestablished.

Barely anyone wanted to lose their chair to a supposed newbie with a scary face.

People watched him carefully from the corner of their eyes. Group tuning was rough, so Otabek sat in the back as to not distract the others. It didn’t work out like he thought it would, but at least he could see if someone was staring at him funny. Was it his clothes? Otabek picked something neutral. Black was a standard color, but maybe some lighter shades could’ve brought out the good-nature in his heart. He tried not to focus on the stares too much as he uncased his cello and carefully tuned it.

Otabek’s cello frightened the other instruments. It was a wild beast with its dark wood and deep polish down the middle. The A-string shone brightly like gold, and it was about the same color. The draw of Otabek’s bow erupted a small earthquake as a mature voice echoed from the cello’s F-holes, sounding more like a bass than a mere cello. The poor omega in front of Otabek nearly dropped her cello and turned around. Biting his inner cheek, Otabek tuned quietly to restore order. The Moscow Symphony was sure different than the orchestra back at home.

If Otabek had any first impressions on the symphony, it was that the group was like a flock of faeries and every little thing Otabek did was seen as irritating. At least, that was what Otabek felt. He was merely a human knight that wanted to study the ways of the faeries. No harm intended, but unintended harm was just as dangerous. Otabek’s dear cello could not harmonize with the others, and the other cellos refused to accept an unruly power that made such a rude entrance during tuning. It wasn’t Otabek’s fault. He wanted to restore balance, but he was splitting the cello section apart.

Slouching in his seat, Otabek rested his chin over his cello’s shoulder. A crestfallen expression over his face. A young auburn-head came up to the conductor’s stand, hands raised. Everyone in the symphony got into ready position. Otabek raised an eyebrow. The girl was probably his age, or maybe a few months younger. Either way, her presence gained her respect and Otabek admired that as he rested his bow over his cello. From behind Otabek, he heard someone slap their palm over their bass.

_“If it’s another group piece we’re doing, I’m eating my bow.”_

Well, that was rude. Otabek wasn’t one to judge a character by what they said, but if one couldn’t work in a team, why join a group where teamwork was especially needed? A stand in front of him had a phone on. Camera app selected, the sixth chair flipped the camera’s eyes so that he can see himself. A flop of bangs went from the right to the left. Otabek leaned to the left to get a better look of the phone’s screen. In the far bottom right corner, Otabek saw a mini-him and there was a mini double-bass right behind him. All he saw was the instrument’s scroll, and the player’s face wasn’t caught on camera. Otabek went back to his standard, ready position. He would have to solve the mystery later, not now.

The girl behind the conducting stand counted the symphony off quietly with her fingers as she told everyone to play a three-octave G-scale. Definite bass grumbling from behind Otabek. Keeping his fingers loose, Otabek tried to clear his mind, watching the girl lift her hands before gesturing for a huge down beat. On cue, the first note of the scale reverberated throughout the group before the subsequent notes followed. Nice, brisk tempo. Careful tuning and positioning of figures. Preparations for shifts happened early, and Otabek felt at ease and allowed his cello to sing a little louder. On the way down from the top note of the scale, a sudden force told Otabek to bow faster.

No, he tried to stay on tempo with the rest of the section, but _somebody_ was on reckless abandon. The crunch of bass notes roared behind Otabek, and the double-bassist was done with the warm-up before anyone else. The conductor sent a sharp look to the player’s direction.

“Yuri, unless you want to repeat that whole scale by yourself, you need to follow the group and stay on tempo.”

Yuri scoffed. Otabek turned his head around a bit. A blonde youth with startling green eyes draped over his double-bass and rolled his eyes. “I’m not a beginner. I wouldn’t mind playing a solo for everybody.”

Just like that, the blonde readied his bow and played the whole three-octave scale like a speed demon. The youth’s fingers trailed down the bass’ bridge in a flawless and smooth fashion while the draw of the bow was jerky and tough like the double-bassist, himself. The playing was loud and proud, and Otabek couldn’t help but respect that. It was obvious that Yuri had confidence in his skills. Yuri finished the scale with a smirk, and his eyes darkened as if they were tempting the conductor to say something else.

“Happy, Mila?”

“If Lilia _was_ here, you’d give her respect.” Crossed arms and a definite air of annoyance. Mila’s auburn hair looked like it was glowing red.

“She _isn’t_ here. Yakov is here. Because he’s here, Lilia doesn’t have to be here.”

“If Yakov was here, you’d still give him the respect he deserves.” Mila didn’t hold back her snarl.

Instinctively, most of the omegas in the symphony shot Yuri warning looks. An angry alpha left a bad taste for everyone, and an angry conductor while at it was the final nail in the coffin. The other bassists gestured for Yuri to stand down, but the blonde _would not_. He argued that he worked better alone, and Mila told Yuri to play by the symphony’s rules. She was at the end of her rope, and Yuri was just burning it, shorter and shorter with each word.

Then suddenly, Mila’s anger washed away and was replaced with a smug attitude.

“I recall that a few days ago, you challenged a _certain someone_ for the gold in the GDC. You know, duets and all.” Mila’s voice suddenly dropped from its airy tone. “Don’t you get it? You _can’t_ play a solo. As soon as you go rogue, you forfeit everything. What is this? Your first loss on a winning streak?” A laugh escape from Mila’s lips. “Big-mouth double-bassist who couldn’t keep his word? _Letting his hero retire without a fight?”_

There was a crash behind Otabek. A stand collapsed next to him. Bass music raining from the sky and scattering all around him.

_“YOU TAKE THAT BACK!”_

_“Yuri.”_ Mila raised her hands, trying to calm the youth. Yuri had enough. Hoisting his bass with one arm and his bow between his teeth, Yuri ditched the symphony. His shoes smudging and kicking his group music. Definite murmurs scattered across the symphony. Voices saying that Yuri was at the end of his rope. Voices saying that Yuri had no chance of advancing anywhere with his attitude. Voices saying that he was a lost cause.

 _I wouldn’t be surprised if he was an alpha._ Otabek gripped his cello’s neck tightly when Yuri stopped and turned his head. As if he heard Otabek’s thoughts.

“I’ll let you know, my ‘turning’ hasn’t happened yet. So don’t assume anything about me.” With that, Yuri left and ran off to a practice room somewhere upstairs. The symphony was quiet. Nobody moved. Otabek tried to stay still, but he was trembling inside. He looked around. A lot of people had blank faces, possibly they were used to Yuri’s behavior. Otabek looked at Mila, and the alpha refused to look at anyone. Someone cleared his throat. Mila looked behind her and saw Georgi emerging from a practice room with his piano books. He greeted everyone softly and stood beside Mila.

Cheerful face, curious eyes, and the look of a man who had not witnessed what had just occurred moments ago.

Without batting an eyelash, Mila told Georgi to conduct for the symphony. She had _something_ to take care of. Georgi squeaked and said that he wouldn’t mind, but he was evidently confused. Dropping his piano books onto the conducting stand, Georgi asked the principal violinist of what piece the group was playing. The violinist replied back that they just finished a warm-up. Georgi sent her a closed-mouth smile.

“Mila, what piece am I supposed to conduct?”

Mila was lost in her own train of thought. In the last second, Mila told everyone that they could practice on their own or split up into small ensemble groups if they preferred.

“It’s a free day. There’s nothing new to play unless you’re picking two songs for the GDC auditions. Registration papers are in Yakov’s office.” A curt nod later, Mila disappeared into the restrooms.

For the first time, Otabek wished he was an alpha so that he could make sure that Mila was okay. He saw her trembling hands and how she hid them away from everyone else. Otabek was an omega, and there was nothing he could do about it. Even though he was on suppressants because of a nearing heat and most people believed that he was an alpha at first glance, it didn’t seem right to walk into a restroom to try to comfort. The symphony already had mixed feelings about him, and it was better not to aggravate anybody. Considering the events that happened moments ago, it was better for Otabek to lay low for a while. It felt wrong to do so, but he had to.

For his own safety, it was much wiser not to tread into an alpha restroom. It might set his heat off early and speaking of heat, Otabek pulled out a small container of suppressant pills and swallowed a baby blue pill. He walked to the nearby restrooms, but he was only there for a sip of water. A dull burn warmed his chest, belly, and scent glands. Otabek sniffed himself. He could barely find his own scent. For now, he was able to “pass off” as a “beta” for a few hours until he had to take another pill again. Another pill, huh?

What did Mila say before? What did she say to Yuri before he stormed off? A competition, a duet, and a battle against a _certain someone._ Otabek had heard about the Moscow Symphony’s legendary pianist, _Viktor Nikiforov._ He had never heard of another pianist working with the symphony before. Otabek concluded that Georgi was possibly new, but the omega pianist knew and talked to everyone with an old familiarity. Perhaps Georgi’s nonexistence outside of the symphony was because of Viktor’s fame. Viktor’s fame as a piano prodigy as well as being an alpha that was fit to lead the music community to new discoveries. With _those odds_ stacked against him, it wasn’t hard to figure why Georgi was an unknown.

That was a sad reality, and Otabek knew that reality all too well. Returning to his seat in the back of the cello section, Otabek gathered his music and practiced a few songs. He practiced anything to drive the silence away, and it made him understand why he traveled all the way to Moscow in the first place.

Late in the afternoon, a few people came up to Yakov’s office to get GDC registration forms. Otabek plucked a form for himself. Under name and dynamic were little boxes to check if you were participating as a soloist, with a duet partner, or with an ensemble. Otabek left those boxes blank but filled everything else. _Almost_ everything else. He needed to pick two songs, but he needed to check a little box before figuring that out. To go solo or go with a partner or two? Forming an ensemble would be hard. Forming a duet was somewhat doable if Otabek acted a little more social. A solo was a go-to choice but if Otabek chose that, then why did he show up in Moscow in the first place?

He wanted to play a duet, but he had to find someone. Stationed near Yakov’s office, Otabek waited for someone to come up the stairs for a registration form. He told himself that the next person who came up would be his duet partner. Well, Otabek would have to do some convincing, but it wouldn’t be too hard. If he had to, Otabek was willing to carry both him and his partner to the GDC Finals. Alright, at least pass the auditioning phase. Best not to be too confident unless you wanted to jinx yourself.

Footsteps coming up the stairs. Otabek perked up. A musky scent caught his nose, and the cellist’s eyes widened when he saw who was coming up. It was the Moscow Symphony’s legendary pianist, _Viktor Nikiforov._

Meanwhile in a practice room all by himself, Yuri was sitting on the floor under a window. Earbuds in, arms tangled around his instrument, phone in his hands, and thumb hovering over a song that could get the tension out of him. Tucking his bass close to his chest, Yuri tipped his head back and sighed. He couldn’t hide here forever. Eventually, someone would come upstairs to find him. That was how it worked. He got into a fight with somebody-- _whether it was Yakov or Lilia or an irritating violinist._ He would make a loud commotion so that people wouldn’t do it again-- _nobody agreed to those terms_. Lastly, Yuri would slip into a practice room for a couple hours. When practice was over or when it was dinner time, the room door would open and Yuri would see Mila.

Sometimes she had snacks with her, or music sheets for a group performance, or she just flicked her finger against Yuri’s forehead and told him that he should apologize. And usually, Yuri would grumble before getting up and doing just that. The tables have turned. Mila was mad at him, and she was always the one that went out to find Yuri. Would she go out and look for him now?

Okay, he went too far. Mila went too far too, but she was a conductor-in-training and was just doing her job. Yuri completely screwed that up. The blonde rested his chin over his bass. He knew he had to apologize, but would Mila even want to see him. Yuri doubted that anyone in the symphony wanted to see him now. He heard the murmurs. Everyone was waiting for Yakov to kick Yuri out because of his attitude, but Yakov was under the belief that Yuri would change and grow for the better. Yuri used to believe that. Now, he wasn’t so sure. He had been in the symphony for two years. Two years and what was he expecting?

Yuri did grow to be a better musician, but he hated playing with others. People were too slow, too unreliable, and too irritating to deal with. However, Yuri had to keep his mouth shut and deal with it because Yakov had invited him personally to join the symphony. A chance like that would never come again, and Yuri seized it as quickly as he could. Over the past few months, he had tried to convince Yakov to let him play solo. Yuri remembered waiting by Yakov’s office every day just to convince the music veteran to let him have that chance. Yuri wanted a “yes”. Yakov always gave him a “no”.

Yuri didn’t understand why. Music was teamwork and all of that, but Yuri didn’t feel any teamwork when he played with the symphony. Everybody was trying to be better than someone else. The only reason why the group had teamwork was because of Yakov’s guidance. No symphony, or rather, _no ensemble of any kind_ acted like the Moscow Symphony. Other groups _must’ve had_ teamwork. Other groups _must’ve felt_ like a family. Yuri saw no family in the Moscow Symphony, except for a few people that he was kind of close to. Even though the adults were professionals, they acted like kids. Yuri was the only kid in the symphony, yet he acted more like an adult.

The Moscow Symphony didn’t start off like this. Lilia and Yakov were living proof of that. They were part of the original symphony, and they stressed teamwork, compassion, and family to each and every musician that passed through the concert hall. The _original_ was founded on love. The _now_ was founded on...Even Yuri couldn’t complete that statement. Something went wrong somewhere. When did music lose its joy?

Playing by himself, Yuri always felt joy. Playing with others, Yuri felt like stabbing his eye with his bow. Music brought joy. Yuri felt sadness. Sadness in seeing how people were too caught up with fame than love. Sadness in seeing his hero wilt and choose to retire ridiculously early. People had reasons for pursuing those goals, but why did music stab at the negatives than the positives? Frankly, it pissed Yuri off.

In a moment of weakness, Yuri scrolled through his text messages and found a link to the YouTube video Georgi sent him. The video of Katsuki Yuuri playing his viola. Seeing the man smile, seeing the man’s eyes light up, seeing the man’s whole character change and lift up touched Yuri’s heart. He wasn’t going to lie. He liked the performance. What confused him was why didn’t the violist play the same way seven months ago? Seven months ago, Yuri saw a sobbing violist in a restroom stall. Just three days ago, Yuri saw a bright violist who tugged the world’s heartstrings with his music. What was different _then_ and what was different _now?_

Back then, Katsuki was the guest principal violist for the Moscow Symphony. Now, Katsuki was the guest violist that had found his key in existence.

In the past 72 hours, Yuri had concluded that the Moscow Symphony was the blame. Not the directors, not Mila, not Georgi. The string players themselves! They were the producers of why music wasn’t fun anymore, and they had successfully affected a fellow musician seven months ago. In the present, Katsuki had saved himself. It was time for Yuri to do the same thing and to save his friends as well. A light bulb flickered above Yuri’s head. Maybe Viktor was trying to save himself too, but the pianist rarely showed up at the concert hall. If the symphony was lucky, the showings popped up three times a month.

There was something more to Viktor’s case. Before Yuri could think more about it, the practice room door swung open. He perked up.

“Mila?”

“Georgi~” Georgi popped his head into the room and waved at Yuri.

“What are you doing here?”

“Keeping you company. People aren’t meant to be alone.” Closing the door softly behind him, Georgi sat across from Yuri. A bubblegum scent wafted off of Georgi. Clearly, the omega was happy. Happy about what? Yuri didn’t want to know. Pulling off his earbuds, Yuri noticed an invitation card in Georgi’s hands.

“What’s that for?”

“Mila made you a cute invitation.”

“Why?”

“If you’re going invite someone to dinner, a text isn’t enough.” Georgi winked.

Yuri blinked slowly. “Wouldn’t it better if she came up here instead?”

“You would probably shoo her away, so she asked me to come here.”

“And you agreed?”

“Yes.”

Yuri cocked his head to the side. “Don’t you have better things to do than play messenger?”

“Always~” Georgi chirped. “Making sure that my pal is alright and happy.”

“I’m your... _pal?”_ The word came out roughly from Yuri’s throat.

Georgi raised a hand and started counting his fingers. “You, Mila, Otabek--”

“That new guy? _How?”_

“While you were sulking up here and missed lunch, I ate sandwiches with Otabek and he’s a really nice person. I don’t know why you snapped at him.”

Yuri opened his mouth and then closed it. Georgi was in a practice room when that happened. Did Otabek…?

Georgi grinned at Yuri. “Mila told me about it. She also said that Otabek was kind of lonely, so I ate lunch with him. Mila wanted to stop by to chat too, but she was busy making your invitation.” Georgi placed the card carefully onto the floor and got up. “Whether you go or not is up to you. Just know that Mila isn’t mad at you. _Just disappointed.”_ Another cheery wave and Georgi was out.

Yuri blinked even slower than last time. After what seemed like ten minutes, he finally got up, shuffled over, and picked up Mila’s invitation card. Taped inside were a few paper bills for him to buy a drink and a snack from a vending machine downstairs. Scribbles of a time on the top right corner. A heartfelt message on the middle that ended with Mila’s signature. A little doodle of a bass and a chibi-Yuri with his chibi-bow on fire. The whole thing was done in pen, and Yuri couldn’t believe that Mila spent her lunch working on this. Chessy or not, Yuri liked it. Pulling up the contacts’ list on his phone, Yuri called his grandfather.

Later that evening with his double-bass safely tucked in its soft case, Yuri pulled the case on like a backpack and waited in the concert hall’s lobby. The concert hall wasn’t empty yet. A few ensembles stayed behind, chitchatting about the upcoming GDC and betting on who would win. Almost six thousand rubles were placed in the middle if Viktor got first place. Yuri was surprised at the low amount. Nearly ten thousand rubles were betted on if Katsuki of Japan got first place instead. Georgi placed a few hundred rubles if Yuri won, and Yuri didn’t know whether to cringe or feel flattered. Then again, Georgi did spill some money for the other betting piles. By the off chance that Yuri won, Georgi would be a happy man.

Off chance? Yuri shook his head. He _will_ win. Chest puffed out and head held high, Yuri almost attacked Mila with a swift jab to the gut. The alpha simply stepped to the side and watched Yuri curse and hiss when his hand jabbed a marble wall instead. Blowing softly over Yuri’s hand, Mila clapped and rubbed it before leading her pal out of the concert hall and off to the streets. It was a chilly evening. Mila was bundled under a men’s trenchcoat, and one whiff told Yuri that it was Yakov’s.

“Yakov won’t be going home until midnight or something. He told me that I could borrow his coat for the evening since my hoodie isn’t too warm.”

“Sure.” Yuri wobbled from side to side like a penguin to make Mila laugh. She did laugh, and Yuri paused and turned around to see her. Mila narrowed her eyes playfully and asked Yuri why he was staring. “I haven’t seen you laugh in a _really_ long time.”

“When you don’t piss people off, you see their laughter than their lecture.” Mila ruffled Yuri’s hair and held his hand. The two must’ve looked comical together. Mila and her catchy laughs. Yuri and his strained smile. Mila and the skips in her steps. Yuri and his side-to-side waddles. Mila wearing Yakov’s thick trench coat. Yuri wearing his instrument’s case and his grandfather’s old leather coat from World War II.

They entered a local sandwich cafe, and Yuri’s stomach growled. He blushed and Mila teased him, asking him if he was saving his snack money to pay off dinner like a gentleman.

“Yes.” No hesitation in his voice. Mila dropped her teasing tone. Yuri rubbed his sneakers together. “With the money, I have enough to pay for your meal.”

“And I’ll pay the money for _your_ meal.” Mila winked while she pulled off Yakov’s trench coat. At the counter, Mila did all the ordering. Yuri took a detour and gazed fondly at the sweet baked goods on display. In the middle was his favorite savory treat. Pirozhkis. From the corner of her eye, Mila watched Yuri.

“Oh, may we have four pirozhkis, please? To-go.”

Yuri drooled as someone grabbed four of his favorite treats and placed them in a brown paper bag. Mila paid for the treats and tossed the bag to Yuri. While waiting for the sandwiches, Mila drained a water bottle while she watched her pal chomp down on savory, baked goodness. Yuri looked absolutely adorable. His chubby cheeks made him look like a blonde hamster. He said that they weren’t as good as the fried version, but the baked versions were pretty good in their own way. Mid-chew on his second, Yuri asked Mila why she invited him to dinner.

Mila looked out the window. “Take it as an apology for earlier. I overstepped my boundaries. I said things I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Sounds pretty fake when you say it,” Yuri mumbled, mouthful of food.

Mila rolled her eyes. “Okay then, let me try this.” Mila cover her face with both of her hands. When her hands fell, tears rolled down her cheeks and her breathing grew unsteady. _“I’m sorry I took out my anger on you. It’s just...It’s just--”_ She couldn’t finish and covered her tearful eyes with her left hand. She turned her face away from Yuri, but Yuri reached out with a napkin to wipe back Mila’s tears. Yuri froze. He had never seen Mila cry until now. Mila pushed Yuri away. _“I’m sorry for this. Alphas shouldn’t be the ones crying.”_

 _“If you feel like crying, just cry,”_ Yuri mumbled.

“You say it so easily since society doesn’t have its bearings on you yet.” Just like that, the tears stopped and Mila held a familiar smile. It wasn’t a smile-smile, but it was a Mila-smile. Right now, that was more than enough. Right on cue, the sandwiches came. Mila pretended to sneeze into her elbow and Yuri thanked the server. Bass case between his feet, Yuri ate slowly while Mila nibbled at her crust. Slurping down a tomato, Yuri mumbled something under his breath.

Mila held a blank expression. “Hey asshole, if you’re going to apologize, say it loud enough for me to hear.”

Yuri smirked. “Should you really be calling someone ‘asshole’ when they’re trying to apologize?”

“Only because I know that you can handle it,” Mila teased.

“Okay.” Yuri slouched in his seat. “Mila, I’m sorry for blowing up and being a little bastard. Happy?”

“Did you really have to curse?” Mila batted an eyelash. “You know, Georgi and I have been thinking about starting a swear jar-thing. Gotta keep your mouth clean somehow.”

“Shut up.”

“Says the kid who needs soap in his mouth.”

Yuri tossed his sandwich crumbs at Mila’s side of the table, and the alpha retaliated with pepper slices. Friendly banter. A friendly war. Finishing up their dinner, Mila dove into the real reason why she invited Yuri to dinner. The GDC was coming up, and Yuri had to hold his end of the deal with his and Viktor’s bet.

“Duet. Got anybody?”

“No.”

“Figured.” Pulling out her phone, Mila scrolled through her notes. “Putting you in an ensemble will be Hell, so we’re just going to find one person that can somehow deal with your shit.”

“And you say that _I_ need a swear jar?”

Mila didn’t bother hiding her smile, but she did ignore Yuri’s comment. “If you’re going to have a partner, they have to be the opposite of you. Naturally, the bass puts you at the lowest register when it comes to range. Either your partner is in the highest register so that both of you can stand out, or your partner has a dynamic range and you’re willing to play some treble notes when it comes down to it.”

Yuri set his half-eaten sandwich down. “What you’re telling me is that Georgi is my only option?”

“You hate the violins, the violas are scared of you, the cellos hate you, and the basses want you dead. So yeah, Georgi is your only option at this point.”

“No offense to Georgi, but he’s slow.”

“He grew up playing waltzes for his family theatre. Waltzes aren’t slow.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Mila looked Yuri right in the eye. “Are you worried because Georgi doesn’t have much experience in the competitive world? I’ll like to remind you that this will be your first GDC, too. Just because we barely play anything that requires a pianist, it doesn’t mean that Georgi’s been slacking off. He’s been Yakov’s pupil for over fifteen years. He’s been training on his own so don’t count him out just yet.”

“Does Georgi even know that he’s my _only_ option?” Yuri whispered?

Mila shook her head a little too cheerfully. “If he knew, it wouldn’t be a surprise when you invite him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right off the bat, I wanted to paint a contrast between Yuuri vs. Yurio and Viktor. In the first 5 chapters, we got to see how Yuuri's world was like and how accepting it was for the most part. Even though his dynamic was in the .01% of the population, Yuri's friends and family didn't treat him any different than how they would treat each other. Yuuri grew up in a world where he didn't have to deal with dynamic conflicts because he surrounded himself with people that accept, respect, and cherish him for who he is.
> 
> On the stark contrast, in Yurio and Viktor's world, dynamics are much more significant. They detail the norms of what each and every individual does. Even though society is slowly starting to break away from these stereotypes, they are still prevalent and most people abide to them. That explains Mila and Otabek's character and their decisions and thoughts in the course of this chapter. Mila feels obliged to follow alpha stereotypes because that was the norm she grew up with. Same for Otabek, the omega norms hold him back as well, even though he wanted to comfort Mila after the heated argument with Yurio.
> 
> These issues heavily influence the omegaverse society but because Yuuri grew up without experiencing these things, he is somewhat ignorant about it because they don't apply to him. Him being a beta and all. But even as a beta, most of society refuses to accept that he's a beta so he is forced to either follow as an omega or as an alpha.
> 
> Bits of those issues were seen earlier in the story and in this chapter, you got to see a bit more of that. As the story goes on, all of us--including me--will see how these characters deal with these status quos. Perhaps the most interesting part will seeing how Yuuri takes in these discoveries and how these norms are linked to that accidental bond bite he gave Viktor a while back.
> 
> It's going to be a bumpy ride, and I'm so excited that so many of you are here to see how this journey will end. Thank you for the support through kudos, comments, subscribes, and shares.


	8. Always With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If Music is Love and Love is Music, when my rival hears the song that I’ll dedicate, they’ll hear my Love.”
> 
> Yuuri was the first to extend his invitation, and now Viktor was ready to answer back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really short update. Probably the shortest chapter in this story so far. Sorry for not updating earlier this week, y'all~ I've been distracted with other things, researching songs and themes for the GDC, and I realized that even though this story is a slow-burn, it is painfully slow. It will take me forever to get to the point if I keep going at the same pace that I've been going. I mean, it's not bad since I'm developing character motives, backgrounds, and world building. However, I'm not getting to the point and most of y'all want to read a story where something happens.
> 
> I tagged this story as a "Viktuuri" story and there has been no hint of that since chapter 3, at most. So I'm kicking myself into high gear and I'm going to be more straightforward. I do want to get this story to start moving so that I can introduce the rest of the cast and really put the GDC--"Global Division Concerts"--under the spotlight because that competition is the catalyst for the story.
> 
> So I hope y'all don't mind this short chapter. It might be short, but it says a lot of things.

Nothing happened without a reason so Yakov simply kept quiet when Viktor entered the office and sat in front of his teacher’s desk. A playful look, a curled lip. Viktor was surprised that Yakov wasn’t yelling his ear off right now. Back in the day, the elderly alpha would always shoot up from his seat and pace, going on and off about how a _proper_ musician would take care of deadlines before they took care of him. Now was not a day for a lecture. Viktor knew that, Yakov understood that. They were no longer _just_ student-and-teacher. Viktor was a pianist in his own right, and Yakov was simply an aging director that had a bad leg. Sitting on equal terms, it was common courtesy to let the other speak first before doing so yourself.

Who _would_ speak first? Viktor and his cunning smile as he leaned forward and plucked a framed picture from Yakov’s desk? Or perhaps, it was Yakov, who sat patiently and eyed the youth in front of him. Silence was its own music, but Yakov was well-aware that Viktor didn’t arrive to just sit in silence and stare. No, the pianist had something else on his mind and Yakov had three guesses as to what it was. Viktor wasn’t going to say it first, and Yakov wasn’t surprised by that. For a moment, Yakov saw a long-haired, teenaged Viktor sitting in front of him instead of the passive adult that had entered moments before.

“Make it quick, Viktor.” Yakov slouched and spun around in his seat. He stroked his baton case like it was a cat, and the thumps of Yakov’s fingers rattled a purr. “I’ve had a long flight. I need my rest.”

“Of course.” Viktor set the framed picture back to where it belonged. Crossing his legs casually, Viktor propped his elbows over his seat’s armrests. “I thought it was best to visit since we haven’t spoke in…” His voice trailed off. He counted his fingers like a child. “Four years? Maybe more than that?”

Yakov’s cough suspiciously sounded like, “ _Whose_ fault would that be?”

Distracted by a sight beyond Yakov’s office window, Viktor ignored his teacher’s question. It was evening out there, and the first glimmer of stars were approaching from a horizon that Viktor couldn’t see. Without tearing his gaze from the stars, Viktor replied, “You want me to say, _‘It was my fault’_ , but I can’t say that. Not yet, anyway.”

Stiff in his movements, Yakov came forward and rested his hands over his desk. “What makes you think that you can come back here, say these things to me, and expect that I won’t overreact to your proposal?”

Viktor opened his mouth, closed it, and a firm aura took over his playful nature. Viktor’s scent barely changed, but an individual can be a master of himself if he chooses to be so. All the more dangerous on Viktor’s part, but Yakov had known the youth long enough to pick out the visual cues. The bangs covering Viktor’s right eye, for instance. The tightness of Viktor’s fists when rested under his chin. The want to look elsewhere when somebody was speaking in front of him. All little signs that wouldn’t mean much in public, but they spoke loud and clear, despite Yakov’s faltering eyes.

Finally, Viktor’s voice worked in his favor. “When you and Lilia were together, did you two truly believe that you’ll be like that forever?” Whether consciously or not, Viktor’s head jerked, shifting his bangs to the side. Shifting his head over by an inch. Causing a bit of his neck to be more visible under the lights.

Yakov raised an eyebrow and reached a familiar ring finger. He touched a cold one and a flurry of heat rose to the back of his eyes. Keeping his mouth shut, Yakov didn’t speak until his throat relaxed and until his eyes stopped watering.

“That was years ago.” Yakov shook his head. “I don’t understand why you would be asking that. What importance is it to you?”

“It’s possible for two individuals to develop affections towards each other if the circumstances permit so,” Viktor replied back, not daring to meet Yakov’s gaze. If he had laxed and and if his eyes had moved down to look at Yakov in the eyes, Viktor would’ve seen another where his reflection should’ve been. Lost in Yakov’s eyes wouldn’t be Viktor, but a violist who had the same shade of eyes that Yakov did. _Well,_ similar but the trope proved true, nonetheless. Now wasn’t the time for the heart to beat again. Now was the time to beat the heart before it constricted itself because of misery.

After a long while, Yakov picked up the conversation again. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Nothing damaging but I’m confused.” Viktor instinctively rubbed the side of his neck. “When you and Lilia decided to be together, what sealed your fate to hers?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

Viktor feared that. He was already treading softly over the topic, but Yakov was at the age where subtle hints came through one ear and out the other. What was holding Viktor back from the truth? He was so confident about it this morning when he refused to apply makeup over the bite mark on his neck. He had a dream where somebody-- _possibly, the key to his existence--_ told him that he was like Pinocchio, but he didn’t have to be. That he, Viktor, was an individual who could escape the strings that held him back. Those strings belonged to his mother, and now Viktor saw those invisible strings coming from his inner-self.

He had to break. He had to tell someone about how he felt, but the invisible strings were creeping up his neck like another golden chain. Viktor gulped and hoped that his voice wouldn’t fail him now.

“How did you know that Lilia was the perfect person for you?”

Silence. Yakov stared at Viktor. His scent was barely detectable, and Viktor feared that his own scent was the same way as well. Both alphas didn’t want to look at each other, but they had to. Because somewhere from inside the other, there was a truth that they both needed to hear.

“Lilia...She was, _um…_ ” Yakov struggled to formulate his thoughts. However, he didn’t drop the conversation. Despite his uneasiness, words slowly escaped from his lips. “Lilia wasn’t perfect. Neither was I. We didn’t see perfection within ourselves, but we saw a beautiful reflection of who we were by looking into each other’s eyes. In terms of Love, we grew together through music and saw that Life wouldn’t be the same. It still isn’t the same.” Yakov gazed down sadly at his missing wedding ring.

“Why did you two divorce?” Viktor asked as softly as possible.

Yakov’s shoulders sagged, and Viktor realized that this was the first time he had ever seen his teacher break down in front of him. Yakov refused to answer, despite Viktor urging him to do so. In terms of Love, there were things that even the heart couldn’t admit to itself. Yakov stubbornly kept his mouth shut, and Viktor eventually had to let the question go. Another phrase of silence fell over the two alphas. Viktor twiddled his thumbs.

“I see that Mila is doing alright, considering the circumstances.”

As if Viktor had said a taboo, Yakov raised his head and told his pupil to refrain from speaking on another’s behalf. About to counter argue, Viktor kept his mouth shut when Yakov sent a threatening glare. Viktor was just curious. He didn’t mean any harm. Yakov also knew about _that_ side of Viktor, the side that was innocently harmful because the youth didn’t have a proper growing-up phase like most adults. Instead of making friends, Viktor was on top of the world’s stage. Maybe Yakov had a part in why Viktor grew up like this, and he wasn’t mad. Just _disappointed_ that he couldn’t save Viktor sooner.

“Viktor, are you in love?” No response. Yakov figured that would be the only response. It was hard to see because of his bad eyes, but Yakov did notice a small pink patch on the left side of Viktor's neck. It appeared fresh, but the bite mark could’ve been made weeks or months ago for all Yakov knew. Maybe _years_ ago. Another round of silence? Yakov was done with silence, and he was sure that Viktor was done too. “What are you planning?”

Viktor licked the roof of his mouth. It was painfully dry. “I know for a fact that the person will be participating in the GDC.”

“You also came up here for a registration form, huh?”

Viktor nodded. “I thought about asking the individual if we could be duet partners, but I knew it wouldn’t be possible since I’m here and they’re so far away. Not to mention, it would be strange if I showed up unexpectedly at their front door and asked. So, I’ve decided to mark this person as my rival.”

“Could you see yourself bringing your all into the GDC if your heart is not with the music but somewhere else?”

“I do.”

Yakov shook his head. “It’s not possible. Music is Love, Love is Music. If your dedication is directed elsewhere, your music will reflect that. People remember your name and face because of your love for music. If you perform with a fickle heart, you won’t only be disappointing yourself.”

Yakov wondered if the young alpha in front of him was aware of his own facial expressions. A bitter frown that threatened to bark transformed into something tranquil. Viktor was at ease and that intrigued Yakov. What was his pupil up to now?

“If Music is Love and Love is Music, when my rival hears the song that I’ll dedicate, they’ll hear my Love.” Viktor’s fingers traced over the bonding bite mark and faded memories of Katsuki Yuuri from Japan swirled around in his mind. The most recent happened to be the memory of that one YouTube video Yuri had sent him three days ago. Katsuki Yuuri played his viola while a YouTube video of Viktor playing the piano was in the background.

Viktor remembered Yuuri’s eyes. Those bright eyes that seemed to return a long-held affection right back to Viktor. He was sure that Yuuri felt the same way for him. Why else would the violist play a duet with a YouTube video of Viktor? A voice that Viktor thought he had long forgotten echoed, _“I hope we can play a duet together one day.”_

It was an act, an act inspired by Love. Yuuri was the first to extend his invitation, and now Viktor was ready to answer back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be preparing chapter 9 on Monday~ Also Viktor, I'm not sure how your plan to woo Yuuri is going to work. You see, Viktor doesn't know that Yuuri is deaf.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos, shares, and comments~


	9. My Paper Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor walked carefully, unraveling the scarf that was around his neck. By some magic, the pink bite mark was still there after all this time. Viktor had to be smart about this. He had to make it a coincidence. Show up or accidently bump into Yuuri. Or perhaps, greet from a distance and come closer when Yuuri returned the greeting. Play it off natural before telling Yuuri that he remembered the violist fondly and that he couldn’t wait to play a duet with him one day. Something romantic like that. Viktor didn’t know. He was going to work on the fly.
> 
> But then, Viktor caught sight of the Russian Yuri rushing past him. Why was he running? Maybe to the restroom? To buy a pretzel? Who knew? It didn’t concern Viktor. What mattered was that after all this time, he met Yuuri Katsuki again. Viktor was near enough so he pulled off his scarf and called out, “Yuuri~!”
> 
> One of them turned around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I spent 6 hours. Typing 20 pages for this chapter. This chapter is 27 pages long. I typed 7 pages yesterday. I'm exhausted. Goodnight*
> 
> This SUPER long chapter was made because A] I gave y'all such a short chapter during the last update, B] I'm preparing for AP testing next month so my schedule will be jam packed with studying and essays, C] I will never attempt to type 20 pages in one day ever again. This is my second time doing something ambitious like this Damn, that was draining.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this super long chapter, and I hope it keeps y'all full until the next update. Whenever that happens.
> 
> WARNING: Lots of flashbacks. With each one, I made it very distinct when the flashback started and when it ends.
> 
> Other than that, you get to learn a lot about the characters and their relationships with each other. Not to mention, you get to learn that I can ramble on and on about something for a good long while.
> 
> If y'all ever wonder where these chapter titles come from, they came from songs that I listened to while typing each chapter. For some, at least.

November 27th was the day of departure. A crisp autumn resonance and scent drifted down from the shedding trees, blanketing the sidewalks and early winter puddles. Light drizzles of rain pelted Moscow, but not a flight was delayed. Things just seemed slower than usual, but time wasn’t rewinding its hands. The seconds moved when the seconds had to, but each second was savored and given its fullest value before sixty turned into a minute and that sixty blossomed an hour. Rolling into the drafty drop off zone, a tarnished taxi met other yellow gas-beetles and filed into a single line as passengers hopped off and grabbed their luggage.

Georgi sat in the front seat, flipping through rubles while he eyed the kilometer counter on the dashboard. Yuri was fast asleep in the back, curled under his grandfather’s thick leather jacket. Every breath made his bangs flutter, and Mila had already recorded a snippet so that a gif could be made sometime later if she wanted to. While the taxi line oozed along, Mila fastened her coat and reached over to zip up Yuri’s hoodie. Yuri’s head jerked, but he was still asleep. Head propped on the slight curve just above the door handle. Yuri nuzzled his forehead against the window, his nose leaving a trail over the cold glass. Mila pulled Yuri up, but the youth’s head smacked the door when she let go. Yuri didn’t wake up.

Georgi looked at the rear-view window and raised an eyebrow. Mila crossed her arms, sending a cheap smile while fluttering her eyelashes.

“You three going anywhere special?” asked the taxi driver, eyeing the elephant in the car. In this situation, it was Yuri’s instrument case. The soft case looked back at the driver. Whether intentional or not, a slight turn caused the case to tilt to the side, painting a curious expression over its...er, _face_.

“To a competition,” Georgi chirped, fishing for a loose coin or two in his wallet. Yuri’s instrument decided to take a nosedive, and Mila elbowed it before the double bass’ scroll kissed her a black eye.

“Sure there’s nothing dangerous in there?” It might’ve been his imagination, but the driver swore he saw a menacing aura emitting from the bass case. Or maybe in reality, Mila was pissed off that Yuri’s instrument had decided to act up _now_.

While the taxi line crawled like a snail. While Mila was constrained by a seat belt. While the sun was still asleep and while Yuri was dreaming about...Mila figured that Yuri was dreaming about his grandfather’s crispy homemade treats and goodies. Probably a line of dancing pirozhkis and Yuri was in the middle while [‘ _La Dolce Vita’_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=26KvnCU19qA) played in the background. Was Georgi the backup dancer or was she? Maybe both. Mila wouldn’t mind, but she wanted to punch pom poms into the air while kicking her legs like in those old black and white dance crazes.

 _“I knew I shouldn’t have bought a Pepsi,”_ Mila mumbled, popping the lid off of her canned drink. She took a sip. _“I’m going to die.”_

“Don’t say stuff like that!” Georgi rubbed his poor neck. _“Yakov would kill me.”_ Pause. _“Lilia would skin me and_ **_then_ ** _kill me.”_

Mila hissed between her teeth. “Don’t wake me up.”

Head tipped back, Mila leaned against Yuri’s instrument’s case and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew, the instrument fought back. Successfully jabbing her in the cheek as a taxi door ripped open. Equivalent to a small cheetah on the African plains, Yuri busted out of the taxi line and tripped over his own feet. Would’ve fell into a puddle too, but a pair of strong hands caught him and the scampering footsteps of Georgi was enough to get Yuri back onto his own feet. Mila poked her head out from the taxi.

 _“Hey, jackass!”_ Mila dropped her alpha-ish feelings. She shoved Yuri’s bass out of the way instead. “I was sleeping.”

Yuri turned and stuck his tongue out at Mila. The alpha stuck up her middle finger as she went to the back to grab the luggage. Eye twitching, Georgi turned Yuri around so that the youth could thank his rescuer. Said rescuer took the form of the newest edition to the Moscow Symphony, _Otabek Altin._ Despite being part of the symphony for over two months, it was still intimidating to meet the cellist’s gaze. He wasn’t that much taller than Yuri, but the youth felt the weight of the cellist’s performance experience compared to his own. Otabek was in an entirely different league, and he stared down at Yuri with a blank face.

“Thanks.” The word was quick, like a fleeting staccato note. Otabek gave an acknowledging nod, the stern fermata that forced any note, _even a fleeting one, t_ o hold its true value before cutting off into silence when desired. Mila approached the scene from behind, holding Yuri’s instrument case in a choke hold while a line of luggage trailed behind her like ducklings. Georgi helped slip the bass case over Yuri’s shoulders, and the omega had a cheery chat with Otabek. Mila hovered behind Yuri, admiring the black leather gloves that over Otabek’s hands. For Yuri, he felt like a kid again.

Then again, he was probably the youngest competitor for the GDC. It made sense to feel like a kid, but he had been an “adult” instrumentalist for the past two years in the Moscow Symphony. But now, he was standing next to formidable players. _The Dark Horse of Kazakhstan_ , Otabek Altin. _The Dramatic Joker of the Theatre_ , Georgi Popovich. _The Sharp-Tongue Tuner_ , Mila Babicheva. Technically, Mila wasn’t a competitor, but her sensitive ears made her an accurate human-tuner when machines failed. And then there was Yuri Plisetsky, the _Blonde Imp of the Bass Clef_ . There was still one other in the party, and _he_ was the reason why Yuri broke from the taxi line so early.

Emerging from his carriage was Viktor Nikiforov, _King of the Winter Sonata._ With his loyal Steed at his side, there was little that a Blonde Imp and a Joker could do to break down the defenses. Pulling down his sunglasses, Viktor greeted and shook hands with the competition, aka Georgi, Mila, and Yuri. Mila kept her distance, but she returned a smile. Georgi shook Viktor’s hand as if he was a brother, not a man that was going to slay his confidence onstage. Yuri simply curled his lip and slapped Viktor’s hand away.

“I’m not here to make friends,” he snarled.

Viktor winked. “Nor am I.” Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, Viktor threw a scarf around his neck. “However, we are going to same place. Try not to get lost, _okay?”_ The sharp accent made Yuri hiss. Otabek cleared his throat, and he and Viktor grabbed their luggage accordingly and walked casually into the airport. Leaving their competition out in the cold. Well by now, Yuri was the only one who saw it as a competition. Mila yawned and complained that she was supposed to be in bed while Georgi’s expressive soul took centre stage.

His eyes swelled up in pride, and Georgi pulled out a tissue just so that he can dab his eyes. “It’s been _years_ since I’ve traveled internationally.”

Yuri grimaced. “You’re not _that_ old.”

“I’ll put it into perspective.” Mila counted the years over her fingers. “The last time Georgi left Russia, he was eleven and I was four. _Four and damn good at Monopoly, too_.” Mila rambled on and on about her Monopoly days and when Georgi chimed in, Yuri thought he was going to lose his mind. No offense, but they were both ancient. Then, what does that make Viktor? A dinosaur? That gave Yuri a good, hearty laugh. It freaked Georgi out, but Mila chuckled darkly along through airport luggage deposits, airport security, and restroom breaks.

Somehow and someway, the trio managed to board their plane without injuries, interruptions, and delays. Seated in the middle of the international plane, Mila and Yuri comfortably brushed elbows while Georgi rested a pillow over Yuri’s head in case he had to take a nap. Somewhere in front of them, Viktor was sitting solo. Close to a window. His duet partner, Otabek, sat by himself too. His cello as his flight buddy. Yuri’s fingers twitched on their own. He wished that he had his bass by his side. Instead, he had Mila and Georgi. His dear instrument sat to Georgi’s left when Yuri needed it the most.

“Try to get some rest. Don’t stress,” Mila mumbled, nodding her head. Slipping in and out of reality and sleep. “We’ll be arriving in Sydney sometime tonight. Humor yourself.” Nodding off, Mila rested her head back and she was gone.

It was best not to argue with a girl who spent all night packing. In truth, Mila wasn’t supposed to be going to Australia. She was meant to stay at home, learn from Yakov, keep him company, and be the messenger between him and Lilia. However, Yuri and Georgi needed a seasoned veteran with them. Yakov wasn’t coming, and Lilia was nursing a bad back since her and Yakov’s separation. The one person left that the duo _could_ trust was the adopted daughter of their mentors. Mila.

 _“Find somebody else,”_ Mila had told them, batting them away with her music folder. _“There are probably loads of orchestra members here who are a better fit than me.”_

 _“I’m not asking for them,”_ Yuri countered. He got too close, and Mila growled on instinct. _“I’m asking for you.”_

 _“Mila, please.”_ Georgi spoke up, holding onto the hem of the alpha’s sleeve. Mila couldn’t turn away. _“Think about Yakov and Lilia,”_ he whispered. The words were so faint that Mila was sure that Yuri couldn’t hear them. _“They wouldn’t want you to be holding yourself back. Please.”_ Georgi tugged Mila’s sleeve. The alpha didn’t budge. _“If not for them, for Yuri.”_

Mila stopped struggling.

In the present, the airplane was about to take off. Flipping through his texts one last time, Georgi squeezed his duet partner’s hand and told Yuri to cheer up. The world wasn’t ending. The GDC was coming. The two had spent the past two months working their tails off for eight songs. Luckily, four of them were catchy tunes that didn’t require too much attention to detail. To elaborate, four of those songs were for the fun part of the GDC. The easy-going, relaxing, and poppy part! The other four songs were tough classics that challenged and strained every bit of Georgi and Yuri’s relationship.

After initial struggles and getting used to each other’s playing styles, the two managed to get in-sync quicker than before. There were still some hesitation on Georgi’s part, but Yuri helped ease him in for the time being. Now, the roles were switched. Yuri needed Georgi to coax him out of the building stress that drowned him. Georgi dove as far as he could to bring Yuri back to life, but that wasn’t enough to shake the anxiety from the youth’s brows.

“There are more important things to keep in mind, you know.”

“Like what?”

Georgi didn’t bat an eyelash. “Your turning should be coming up soon. We were lucky it didn’t happen during the GDC auditions.”

Indeed, they _were_ lucky. Backtrack almost two months ago when everyone only had a few weeks to prepare because Yakov couldn’t come to Moscow sooner. Georgi and Yuri had this exact same conversation in a quiet practice room on the second floor of the concert building. Georgi told Yuri to take suppressants. Yuri refused. Georgi countered that there was a high chance that Yuri was going to go into heat during the auditions. Yuri asked him for proof. At the time, Georgi didn’t have much proof that Yuri would turn out to be an omega, but he had statistics on his side.

“Late-bloomers” typically presented as omegas. As we saw with Phichit and Yuri learned then that Georgi was also a late-bloomer too.

Despite hearing all of that, Yuri sighed and slouched over his bass. What Georgi failed to mention was the other half of the “late-bloomer” equation. Yuri’s body had a choice. Be an omega or take reckless abandon and be a beta. There was always Option Three, and Yuri didn’t mind one bit if he presented as an alpha. In truth, he didn’t care what he presented as. What pissed him off was that Georgi was worrying too much. The omega adult squawked at Yuri like a Mother Goose and stressed that safety precautions would make things easier for everyone. They _definitely_ weren’t working for Yuri.

For the first time, Georgi and Yuri got into a fight. Yuri screamed in the empty practice room while Georgi stormed out and disappeared. But eventually, the frustration melted into unease and Yuri hoped that Georgi wasn’t too mad. He went out, searched every practice room, and found a quiet Georgi sitting in the lobby. A crushed can of soda between his hands. It didn’t matter who apologized first. What mattered was that the past was behind them, and the two managed to move on from that sore spot. Like what was mentioned earlier, Yuri was lucky that his turning _didn’t_ occur during the GDC auditions.

However, the thought of it happening in a foreign environment haunted Georgi. He brought extra suppressants with him. Just in case something happened. When Georgi placed his phone away, his fingers brushed against the bottle of pills in his pocket. Yuri didn’t look like he noticed. The blonde was too busy making sure that Mila’s seat belt was on tight enough.

Georgi tried to settle in before the long flight. “Just make sure that you stay close to me or Mila. Can you promise me that?”

“Sure.” A staccato response from Yuri, but he held the count a little longer to give Georgi that much-needed reassurance. Heads tipped back, the airplane raced down the runway and took off into the air. Like an eagle of some sort. Maybe a crane because it was carrying a healthy bundle of Russian musicians to the heat of the Australian cradle.

Meanwhile towards the East of the planet, at roughly the same time-- _not actually the same time because of time zones--_ Yuuri Katsuki and Takeshi Nishigori were preparing to board onto their flight at any moment now. For precaution-sake and because of Yuuko’s constant pestering, Yuuri finally ordered himself case straps so that he could wear his viola case like a backpack. Eliminated all worries of leaving a case somewhere and not knowing where it was. Yuuko had her proud moment, and she was quick to remind Takeshi about it when her mate almost forgot to do things. A lot of things, actually.

For one, Takeshi almost forgot to book a hotel room for Yuuri and him. By some saving grace, Yuuko popped the question one night while cooking dinner and nearly poured a whole jar of spiciness into a pot of soup when all she heard was dead silence from her mate. Immediately, the triplets grabbed Yuuko’s laptop and placed it in front of their Daddy. With Yuuko breathing down his neck, Takeshi whipped out his wallet and booked a hotel room so quickly that he snagged the last one that was available in the area near the performance hall.

For two, Takeshi almost forgot that he was a pianist. Roughly two months ago-- _apologizes for the backtracking--_ Yuuri approached his friends and asked if one of them wanted to be his duet partner. Yuuko promptly spilled her tea over the counter in response. A light bulb flashing over her head, she pointed towards her mate and dragged Takeshi to a piano. Oh man, Takeshi didn’t even remember the last time he played the piano. He barely knew how to read the sheet music, and Yuuko was trying to convince him to accept Yuuri’s request. Yuuri knew better than to get into _that_ argument, so he sat back and watched Yuuko coax her mate.

 _“You’re better at the piano than me,”_ Takeshi argued. Well, he didn’t argue, but he did drag a chair so that his mate could sit down and rest her sore feet. _“I still need a tuner to figure out if a note checks out or not.”_

 _“Sweetheart, why are you doubting yourself?”_ Yuuko reached out and rubbed her thumb over Takeshi’s left hand. Takeshi didn’t recoil from her touch. _“Sure, you’re rusty and not a prodigy like Viktor Nikiforov.”_

Takeshi grumbled, _“Did you really have to rub that in?”_

Yuuko grinned and lightly punched her mate’s arm. _“Takeshi, I can’t go.”_ Yuuko said it loud and clear. _“Someone has to stay behind. Look after the kids and the shop. Cheer from the sidelines. You get the picture, right?”_

Takeshi opened his mouth and then closed it. What was Yuuko thinking? At the time, Takeshi wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t like Yuuko to give up on an opportunity like this. For years, she dreamt about possibly performing on an international stage one day. Whether solo or with somebody by her side, that was Yuuko’s dream.

Now that the opportunity was here, she was simply casting it away and for what? Takeshi barely had any piano skills to begin with. Sure, he knew how to play some songs. Some pop songs for his daughters, some classicals for his mate, and some challenging pieces just to reassure himself that he wasn’t a loser. Takeshi _did_ have something, but it wasn’t enough. Compared to Yuuri, Takeshi saw himself as a dead weight.

 ** _“Yuuko, I want you to reconsider what you’re thinking.”_** Takeshi didn’t know why, but signing his feelings felt natural to him. He didn’t want Yuuri to be kept in the dark any longer than he had to. **_“You brought Yuuri into the Music World. You should lead him back with a gold medal around his neck.”_**

Yuuri watched Takeshi carefully. He watched Yuuko just as carefully. Yuuri couldn’t see Yuuko’s face. What expression was she making? Was she angry? Upset? Disappointed that the man she loved couldn’t carry out her request? Takeshi’s facial expression didn’t change. That gave Yuuri a clue. When Yuuko finally moved, she was gentle with her gestures.

 ** _“This is a team effort, Takeshi. I brought him to the Music World, but you brought music to Yuuri. You and your father introduced Yuuri to the viola and look at him now.”_** Yuuko turned around and beckoned Yuuri to come closer. He did and Yuuko wrapped a loving arm over his shoulders. What she said next was through words, but Yuuri could hear her voice in his heart. _“If anything, you’re the perfect person to lead Yuuri back. Besides, Yuuri learned all about me while learning the viola. It’s about time he learned a bit more about you~”_

And with those closing words, Takeshi looked at Yuuri and Yuuko looked back at him. At the time, Takeshi was scared. Who would blame him? His mate was firm with her choice, and Yuuri still needed a duet partner. Takeshi had nowhere to run, but his mate and his friend weren’t ganging up on him. Perhaps, Takeshi’s mind was ganging up on his heart. Logic trumped emotional ties, but emotional ties were built from love and trust. Much stronger than a foundation built on a perceived limit that the body placed on itself. Takeshi thought he wasn’t good. Yuuko believed that he _was_ good.

Point three of things that Takeshi had almost forgotten, he almost forgot how much fun it was to play on the piano. A story about that would be for another time, but Takeshi will never forget of how Yuuko worked Yuuri and him to the bone. Okay, it was a figure of speech. Yuuko recognized that Yuuri wanted to incorporate more dances into his performances, and she felt that it wasn’t fair for Yuuri to workout on his own. It took some meddling to convince Takeshi to tag along and boy, Yuuko was having way too much fun with it.

Running up and down stone steps all over Hasetsu, doing push ups while one of the triplets sat on their backs, and jogging from one end of the town’s beach to the next. Each day, Yuuri and Takeshi grew stronger, but they grew more tired. On one particular day, Takeshi got so tired that he kept messing up his daughters’ names. His girls would keep switching their names to confuse him, and Takeshi saw stars at the end of each day. Yuuko let Takeshi lean on her shoulder as she walked him to the Katsuki Hot Springs. Down in the hot water, Yuuri and Takeshi bonded over their suffering and their connection to Yuuko.

**_“Yuuko is our friend.”_ **

_“I’m glad that she’s not your wife.”_ Pause. _“She’s a great wife, but it’d be weird if she was yours as well.”_

Yuuri blinked like a deer caught in front of a set of headlights.

**_“What?”_ **

_“Forget it.”_

But luckily for the omega and the beta, all of that was behind them. In the current present, there were ten minutes left to go before they could board their flight. Yuuko kissed and scented her mate one last time, and Takeshi gathered his daughters into his arms and nuzzled their cheeks and reminded them to be extra helpful since “Daddy won’t be home for a while.”

While he did that, Yuuko gave Yuuri some pep-talk. By definition, _at least Yuuko’s definition,_ every pep-talk had to make the listener feel good about their abilities. That was exactly what Yuuko did. She spoke softly as to not disturb others, but she signed all of her enthusiasm and a light chuckle escaped from Yuuri’s lips.

Yuuko’s eyes shined as if she was placing a gold medal around Yuuri’s neck. “Show your Love to Australia and don’t hold back.”

Yuuri grinned. _“I won’t.”_

“That’s the spirit!” Yuuko and Yuuri high-fived. The clap resonated their friendship, and Takeshi joined in to give it a triple effect. Axel, Lutz, and Loop whined and asked to be picked up. Yuuri, Yuuko, and Takeshi grabbed a child and the triplets joined in on the high-five. Before Yuuri and Takeshi had to go, Yuuko hugged her boys one last time and she didn’t leave until their tickets were taken by a flight attendant.

“I send you my Love, Yuuko!” Takeshi fought back his tears. This wasn’t a damn romance movie, but it sure felt like one. Yuuko laughed between her tears and waved goodbye. Axel, Lutz, and Loop cheered for their Daddy and for Yuuri as both men disappeared into a little hallway and boarded their flight.

Standard procedure. With just them two, Yuuri and Takeshi chose a seat more to the side than to the middle. Yuuri wanted to sit in the aisle, but Takeshi gave Yuuri the window seat instead.

“I would just be sleeping the whole time. You _actually_ look outside the window.” Takeshi had a fair point and besides, Takeshi understood Yuuri’s nonverbal system so the beta didn’t have to worry too much about communication. Situating his viola case under his seat, Yuuri looked out the window and watched the midday sun. They were going to arrive in Sydney sometime tonight. Sometime tonight, he and Takeshi will be in a hotel room, snoozing until the sun came up. Eat, practice, eat, practice, eat, and then sleep. For a few days until Part One of the first link of the GDC began. The theme was assigned right after the worldwide auditions were completed.

Love was the starting theme.

But when the plane took off and Yuuri felt his stomach left behind on Earth, his perception of Love changed a bit. What was Love? Other than that warmth that blossomed in your chest, Love was a complex emotion. Well, it indeed was an emotion, and an emotion was supposed to be complex. If it was simple and easy to pin down, why would it be an emotion? Yuuri was sidetracking again. He didn’t have to, but he slipped on his headphones out of instinct. With them hugged over his ears, Yuuri closed his eyes and tried to visualize what Love meant to him.

Of course, his family came to mind. His adoring mother and his proud father popped into his head, and their hearts were at ease because they trusted and believed in his abilities. Yuuri could almost taste his mother’s katsudon over his tongue. Yuuri could almost feel his father’s warm hand over his head, ruffling his hair and scratching that good spot that Yuuri liked. Played in his head was a distant memory, a memory of a little Yuuri playing _Hot Cross Buns_ to his parents. Hiroko clapped enthusiastically after the performance, and Toshiya puffed up like a proud rooster. They both got up and hugged their little Yuuri. But then, that memory faded away as old talks and old meetings with Mari sprung up.

Mari, his strong sister, always looked out for her little brother. Whether it was sitting outside and waiting for Yuuri to come home from school, or teaching him how to fight. Those were the glory days. When Yuuri was still young and fragile, Mari had somehow convinced herself that her little brother was going to present as an omega. Shoot, Mari knew next to nothing about omegas, but she knew a thing or two about how alphas felt around them. Especially unmated alphas. So when Yuuri was at the bright young age of eight, Mari decided to take him under her wing.

At the time, Yuuri didn’t know why his sister was teaching him how to fight. After all, fighting at school was forbidden, and Yuuri didn’t see why he had to learn. Fifteen year old Mari didn’t know how to sign her message across, but she managed to convince her little brother that self-defense was a good thing to learn. That not everyone on the planet was a saint, and that it was better to be safe than sorry. Besides, it wasn’t too early to start teaching Yuuri about how dynamics worked. In Mari’s opinion, it was better and healthier for Yuuri to learn from a family member than some bullshit teacher who used statistics, who used symptoms that didn’t always work the same for everybody, and who used general basics to get the point across for growing kids.

Nah, Mari saw that Yuuri was old enough to learn the _actual_ truth. She couldn’t beat up her brother and that was never her intention. But as Yuuri grew stronger and grew more knowledgeable about the other dynamics, Mari felt loose enough to start hitting back. After all, in a _real_ fight, one person wasn’t doing all the fighting.

There was strategy, deception, and a whole string of useful techniques to get your point across before landing the final blow. Mari took on different personas so that Yuuri would be prepared for almost anything. The sparring matches grew more brutal over the years. Often ending with Yuuri tending to a wound with an ice pack while Mari nursed a bleeding lip and black eye.

To say the least, Mari was proud of how far Yuuri had come. She was proud of her student, especially proud that her brother could defend himself if no one was going to. Their bond was deep during that time and it still was now. Even though Yuuri and Mari hadn’t sparred in years, both knew that the fight would last for a good, long while before one of them had to throw in the towel and quit.

Besides family and growing to love yourself through self-defense, Yuuri experienced Love through his friends and Minako. Those experiences were complex and helped shape the kind of person Yuuri was when he was around others. Though, the experiences might have skewed his perception of others.

If Yuuri had to elaborate on the subject, he would reply that he grew up in a very understanding, a very laxed environment that saw his difference as nothing to worry about. Nobody cared that he was a beta. They simply cared that he gained the respect that he deserved, and that Yuuri grew to be open-minded and caring to the people he grew close to. All of those were good while growing up, and there wasn’t a fault in the idea. When Yuuri went into the real world for the first time in college, his perception of the human condition changed.

Outside of the tight-knit bubble of close friends, there was a world ruled by a dynamic hierarchy. Of course, the hierarchy was disbanded decades ago. However, its influence still lingered on. Asia, _being dominated by alphas_ , was a tough area swallowed by business tycoons and of the alike. It was a fast-paced world where you could easily be eaten up alive if you couldn’t catch up. That didn’t deter Yuuri too much since he grew up in an alpha household. He knew the alpha thought-process, how they presented themselves to company, and how rules and regulations were the butter to their bread. Yuuri blended in easily, and it helped that he had an alpha-ish build, despite being a beta.

The real trouble came when Yuuri flew to America for college and eventually to Europe for his first GDC. Like the label stamped across it, America was a melting pot of dynamics and ethnicities. There was an even balance of both omegas and alphas. Occasionally, Yuuri did encounter another beta and that was always something. A sudden spark would ignite in Yuuri’s mind, and he would turn and meet eyes with the beta in question. Those moments were rare and fleeting, and Yuuri was the only beta at his college. On only one hand, he could count the encounters he had with another beta. The number was small and it was over a span of four years. No, _five years._ Yuuri stayed in America for an extra year before going to Tokyo to be in the symphony there.

During those five years in a truly foreign environment, Yuuri learned where dynamic borders were placed. Despite America being looser than most countries that Yuuri had visited, there was still a define definition of each dynamic. If you were an omega, you did this. If you were an alpha, you did that. If by God you were a beta, pick a side and stick to it.

Yuuri never grasped onto that idea, and that was when the questions popped up. People weren’t fascinated with Yuuri because he was a deaf violist in a prestige music school. They were curious about his dynamic, and Yuuri answered honestly that he was a beta. Some believed him. Some believed that he was a late-bloomer. The majority believed that he was lying, and they kept pestering him for a _real_ answer.

If Yuuri thought that America was bad, Europe was perhaps a little bit worser. Europe was predominantly an omega continent. Alphas were prized. Alphas were leaders. Frankly, many European countries held onto that belief and grasped desperately at the few alphas that they had. It was kind of like Asia a little bit with how omegas were prized because they were uncommon. Uncommon didn’t mean rare. Uncommon meant that something wasn’t the majority. Rare meant it only happened once in a lifetime. For some Eastern countries in Europe, uncommon and rare meant the same thing.

Rules were stricter, much stricter than Asia and the West by far. There were guidelines, books, pamphlets, brochures, and almost every place Yuuri visited had a small rack near the entrance. Filled to the brim with things omegas and alphas _should_ already know, and what they _should_ be doing out in public. Yuuri was pretty sure that a beta pamphlet wasn’t around. Actually, he began to wonder if betas had to conform to a dynamic because society was so grid-lock about it. Maybe they forgot who they really were and didn’t know how to function in society without the guidelines that were spoon fed to them since birth..

All of that was in Yuuri’s mind at the time, so he didn’t know the truth. Maybe betas were extinct in Europe. He didn’t know. But when it came down to it, Yuuri realized how sheltered he was from the outside world. All of the demands, all of the pestering. It was enough to drive a normal person insane, but everyone Yuuri talked to was used to it. They were born into it, they were raised on it. Not Yuuri. It took him a long time to get used to it. To this day, he was not completely comfortable with it but he could manage better now than before.

And through all that rambling, Yuuri realized another Love.

Back in the airplane and in reality, Yuuri tugged his headphones off when he felt something weird about them. Takeshi flinched and nearly dropped his phone. Yuuri’s audio jack were plugged into Takeshi’s phone, and the latter was going through his playlist for a heavy drum solo.

“Sorry.”

 _“I don’t mind. It scared me at first,”_ Yuuri signed back.

Takeshi laughed. “Yeah, I figured it would. I was just wondering if you could feel the vibrations in the song.”

A light bulb flickered over Yuuri’s head. He tugged his headphones back on. Takeshi gave a signal that a song was playing. Yuuri felt a steady beat tapping his ears, and he bopped his head along to it and Takeshi was overjoyed.

“You want the playlist on shuffle?”

Yuuri nodded and tapped out the steady beats on his thigh. Where was he in his thoughts? Yuuri didn’t remember. He was having way too much fun counting out bets in his head, and Takeshi was happy that Yuuri was a little closer to listening to music. Not to mention, the headphones were being put to good use for once than just being purely for aesthetics.

“I wanted to try this out during the GDC auditions, but you had earbuds on,” Takeshi said. “Didn’t want to distract with others with heavy metal.”

Yuuri nodded and danced around a little bit in his seat. Moving his hands and arms with the rhythm. The GDC auditions were a while ago, but it felt like they happened only yesterday.

Yuuri remembered riding a train all the way to Tokyo. Takeshi had the triplets on his lap, and the girls pointed at different things and Takeshi tried to explain each one as fast as he could. Like in the old days, Yuuko was snapping pictures. Left and right. She took a selfie with Yuuri and tagged it _#gdc-auditions_. Of course, she took some formal pictures along with the selfies and random blurs as the train passed by multiple little towns that were much like Hasetsu.

One picture was with Takeshi and the triplets. Axel, Lutz, and Loop made silly faces while Takeshi stayed stern. The next picture was the complete opposite. Serious triplets with a giggly Takeshi. Yuuri got dragged in, and he uncased his viola and bow and placed them on his lap, in ready position. Then, Yuuko wanted a picture with her friend. Then, with Yuuri’s viola and bow, with her daughters, with her husband, with everybody, and then by herself.

Once the party got off the train, Yuuko ran out of memory space on her phone. Luckily, she carried two phones. It was a bit excessive, but Yuuko was prepared. She wished her boys the best and waited out in the lobby while Takeshi and Yuuri signed in. A pleasant young woman was at the sign-up table. A huge clipboard in front of her and a mighty highlighter in her hand.

Takeshi approached the woman first. _“Nishigori Takeshi.”_

Takeshi’s name was checked off.

 _“Alright, Sir. You’ll be going to the left towards the omega practice halls.”_ She pointed where and Takeshi gave his thanks. Next was Yuuri and he placed down his name card on the table. Giving Yuuri a delicate smile, the woman glanced at Yuuri’s card and flipped through her clipboard to find him. She highlighted Yuuri’s name, and then her hand froze when she saw Yuuri’s dynamic. There wasn’t an _O_ or a bright _A._ There was a _B._

Yuuri drummed his fingers along the table. Takeshi hadn’t left yet. He still hovered nearby while the sign-up woman stared at the letter for by Yuuri’s name. Then, a list of words came out of her mouth.

_“Butterfly, ‘biola’, biology major, Brendon Urie, bacon, bi?”_

Yuuri shook his head at every word that came out of the woman’s mouth. He hesitated on the last one. He couldn’t deny that one, but that wasn’t what the _B_ by his name meant.

 _“He’s a beta. He’ll be coming with me,”_ Takeshi told the woman.

 _“That makes sense.”_ She grabbed a pen from her little mug of writing utensils.

Takeshi slammed his hand over the clipboard. Everyone around them stared at him. _“Just because he’s going to an omega area, it doesn’t mean that my duet partner’s an omega. Please don’t change his dynamic. Yuuri is the way he is, no matter what side he’s on.”_

The sign-up woman blushed a deep crimson red. Sighing, Takeshi held onto Yuuri’s hand and led him to the practice halls. If Yuuko was here with them, she would’ve made a bigger scene and would’ve called the woman out for disrespecting her friend. It was purely unintentional on the sign-up woman’s part, but it was still rude to mark someone out and change them so that they could fit into society’s standards. Passing by a few omegas, Takeshi found an empty practice room and closed the door softly while Yuuri uncased his viola and bow and warmed up.

Takeshi waved to get Yuuri’s attention. _“Hey, are you alright?”_

Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

_“About what happened earlier.”_

**_“Takeshi, I did study abroad for five years. Kind of used to it by now.”_ **

Takeshi grimaced. _“You got used to it? Yuuri, you’re a beta. You’re nobody else but a beta. You shouldn’t let people change that so that you can conform to what they want from you..”_

Whether intentional or not, Yuuri plucked his strings as if he was going to tear them right off the viola. **_“It wouldn’t be a problem if people didn’t care about dynamics so much.”_ ** Turning his head, Yuuri pulled out his phone and turned on his tuning app. Plucking his viola softly, Yuuri carefully tuned his strings while Takeshi digested what Yuuri had said. Then, Takeshi felt shame and slowly shuffled towards the practice room piano and sat heavily on the bench in front of it.

Yuuri was tuning, so Takeshi couldn’t say anything. He had to wait and that waiting tore him up inside. Takeshi apologized for what he said, and Yuuri forgave him like he usually did. There was still a tense aura over Takeshi, but Yuuri acted as if the problem was just a minor inconvenience. Nothing to write home about, but Takeshi wanted to talk more about it. He couldn’t, of course. They had half an hour to warm up before being led out to draw numbers to see who auditioned first in front of a panel of judges.

With the time they had left, Takeshi checked Yuuri’s tuning and the duo played a few warm up scales before playing through their pieces. Their first piece was a standard duet. Fairly challenging for a rusty pianist like Takeshi, but he mostly had whole notes and half notes while Yuuri’s viola tackled the melody. The piece didn’t have a hard rhythm, but key changes were quick and often and time signatures often got whacky if you didn’t pay attention to where they were.

The piece was heavily technical, with dynamic ranges that asked for a pin drop in a silent room in one phrase and then an elephant crushing a car while Godzilla ravished a gas station in another. Takeshi and Yuuri had to be quick on their toes, and Yuuri swayed his upper body left and right while they practiced.

Hitting the right notes was a must, and Yuuri often darted his eyes towards Takeshi. Seeing Takeshi’s reaction told him if a note was in-tune or not. They were still some problems but if they did well and if they got a high score on their second piece for the auditions, there would be a golden ticket with their names stamped across it. Telling them that they were eligible for the Global Division Concerts.

Half an hour was up. Takeshi and Yuuri left the practice room. A milling of omegas, alphas, soloists, duets, and ensembles all bunched up in a big room. Yuuri pulled on some cheap earbuds and pretended that he was listening to music when Takeshi left to go draw a number for them. Number one. What were the odds? Takeshi gulped and thought of his wife and children while Yuuri stared at the number and shrugged. Being the first one up meant that their performance was the set standard for the other performances. Yuuri liked that. There was plenty of wiggle room to deal with. Now for the challenge. Calming Takeshi down.

 _“Yuuri!”_ A squeaky, high-pitched voice called out to him. Before Yuuri knew it, someone ran up and hugged him from behind. Instincts told Yuuri to grab the person’s arms and twist them. Logic told Yuuri that he was in a crowded space and that everyone in the room was auditioning for the GDC. To break someone’s arm this early in the game was bad. Yuuri turned his head slightly and encountered a wild chicken nugget. He shook his head. No, it was a small teen with a red streak through his blonde hair. A cute, jagged tooth protruded from the boy’s mouth, and Yuuri saw his own reflection through the boy’s sunny eyes.

Takeshi poked the teen’s shoulder and motioned him to let go of Yuuri.

_“Kid, who are you?”_

_“My manners!”_ The boy finally broke away from Yuuri, and Yuuri weakly took a step back. _“My name’s Minami Kenjirou, and I play the piccolo~”_ For show, he whipped out his woodwind and played a little tune. Takeshi clapped his hands along to the rhythm. He recognized the tune. It was one of the theme songs for a cartoon that his daughters so liked. Yuuri stared at Minami’s feet while he played. The teen had spunky footwork, and the little spins and hops intrigued Yuuri. He only looked at Minami’s face when the teen stopped dancing and looked up at him with glee. _“I’m your biggest fan.”_ Were those tears streaming from Minami’s eyes?

Yuuri took a few more steps back. If Minami claimed to be his biggest fan, that mean that Minami viewed him as an idol. Yuuri kept walking backwards until his back bumped into a wall. Someone looked up to him. For inspiration. Yuuri never felt that before.

Meanwhile, Takeshi explained to Minami that Yuuri was quite shy around new people, and that it would take a while before he would warm up to Minami. The teen didn't mind one bit. He was just happy that he was auditioning in the same building as his idol.

_“You know that Yuuri plays a string-instrument, right?”_

_“I know that~”_ Minami chirped. _“Even so, he’s inspired me to keep playing the piccolo and to follow my dreams.”_

A question mark appeared over Takeshi’s head. As far as he knew, nobody in the media world really knew that Yuuri was deaf. Or maybe they did, but they never bothered to tell the rest of the world that whenever Yuuri came up onto the international stage. Takeshi assumed that Minami probably saw an interview or something about it, and he could understand the weirdness that Yuuri probably felt.

Yuuri rarely treated his deafness as a problem so when someone saw him as inspirational because of it, a few loose gears would bust out of Yuuri’s mind and he would be in a stupor for days until someone knocked sense back into him. Speaking of knocking sense, Takeshi had to rush and drag Yuuri back into reality. They were the first ones up, and Yuuri needed to be on top of his game.

Finding Yuuri wasn’t hard. The violist was staring at a wall when Takeshi found him. Coaxing Yuuri to come back to reality was much harder. Takeshi tried everything. Giving Yuuri shoulder massages, signing that he’ll do a good job as always, and that katsudon was waiting at home. Nothing.

Yuuri was still dazed when they both walked into the auditioning room. Three judges greeted them, and Yuuri bowed his head briefly before taking his stance behind a music stand that was brought in. His sheet music stared back at him, but Yuuri couldn’t read the notes. His glasses were on and everything, but all he saw were black dots scattered across three pages.

It took twenty seconds for Yuuri to realize that Takeshi was waving at him from behind the piano. Last minute tuning. Yuuri played his strings softly, and Takeshi raised or lowered his thumb when Yuuri was too flat or sharp. Tuning was tense. Yuuri blinked hard, trying to focus in on Takeshi’s hand. Takeshi quietly counted Yuuri off. Yuuri’s first note aligned with the down beat.

In all honestly, Yuuri had no memory of Part One of the auditions. At the time, his body moved on its own and he accepted whatever happened. His mind was still in a daze. He didn’t see his sheet music or Takeshi or the judges. At the time, he felt like was a college student again and it was his first time auditioning for the GDC. Yuuri’s chest ached and his lungs were constricted and tense as nerves spilled over him during the solo performance of then. But at the now with Takeshi by his side, Yuuri crushed those nerves and broke the lull that had him under its trance.

Yuuri took on the assertive and aggressive role in the piece, and the later half of the first piece was much more expressive than the first. Yuuri’s eyes were finally open and he saw the shackled doves in his mind fly into the air, free from old bonds. Yuuri could finally see Takeshi, and the two coordinated their parts for a big and staggering end until all was left was the fleeting tremolo that issued from Yuuri’s bow before it, too, faded into silence.

The judges clapped. Yuuri and Takeshi bowed and left the room. Outside, Takeshi melted into jello and collapsed onto a bench, mumbling how he lost count in some places and hoped that the judges wouldn’t dock off too many points because of that. Yuuri didn’t talk much, but he was starting to grasp reality again.

Why did his mind take him back to his first GDC audition? _I’ve come a long way._ It had to be that. Because this odd tension in Yuuri’s heart still lurked in the shadows. It was there when he told Yuuko and Takeshi that he was quitting music for good. It was there when he felt free from his shackled chains when he had a duet with YouTube!Viktor. And now, it was still here, prowling in Yuuri’s heart when he needed to be the most calm.

But that tension wasn’t Yuuri. It never was Yuuri, and it never will. It was impossible to squish out every negative voice in one’s body, but if you ignored it and strove past it with confidence in your own abilities, it was like those voices were never there to begin with. But the Part One was done, and the old familiar feeling sunk back into Yuuri’s core. He lost track of time but at some point, Minami approached him and asked for some advice.

The youth struggled during part one. His performance of _The Entertainer_ was good, but it wasn’t good enough and he was afraid that he won’t make it to the GDC. The youth needed support, and Yuuri stared at Minami as if he _was_ a chicken nugget. Someone needed him, but Yuuri had nothing to give. A simple pat on the back? An inspiring speech that he could pull up on his phone for Minami to read? What did Minami want? The teen didn’t specify, and he looked up at Yuuri as if he knew what troubled Minami.

 _“I was hoping that you could--”_ Minami stopped abruptly when Yuuri growled. The last time Yuuri growled, it was because an obviously drunk Viktor refused to move to the side so that Yuuri could go home and prepare for his flight back to Japan. This particular growl didn’t reach the same volume of then, but it was just as threatening. Minami squeaked some apologizes and left, more heartbroken than before he approached Yuuri for help.

Takeshi called Yuuri out on his behavior.

_“Dude, he was just asking for some support. Why did you do that?”_

Yuuri didn’t sign anything back, and Takeshi’s patience was tested.

 _“He could’ve gone to anyone else, but he came to you. Do you know why?”_ Takeshi didn’t wait for a response. Yuuri wasn’t going to give him one anyway. _“He looks up to you. You’re his inspiration because he saw you stumble and fall during your first GDC, but you never gave up. You kept at it with that difficult piece that you had for the classics. You conquered that music at the GDC Final, and Minami thought your determination was admirable. Understand?”_

Pissed, Yuuri signed back with jerky and stiff movements.

**_“You’re right next to me. You don’t have to yell.”_ **

_“I’m not yelling because you can’t hear me. I’m yelling because you need to understand how people think and feel about you.”_ Takeshi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. _“It’s like...If Viktor was here and you had a bad performance, wouldn’t you go up to him and ask him for support?”_

Yuuri raised an eyebrow. **_“Why would I do that?”_ **

_“Yuuri, when someone wants to lean on your shoulder, you stick out your shoulder for them to lean on. Why are you being callous?”_ Takeshi was done. He got up, stretched his arms and before he left, he added, _“Just because you don’t think that you need to pay attention, pay attention to how you interact with others. Goddamn it!”_ Takeshi left. Yuuri was alone, alone with his thoughts and with what Takeshi had yelled at him. Was he callous? Yuuri bit back his bark.

Back when Viktor made him frustrated, he thought about shoving Viktor to the side. To see the alpha flare up and fight back at him. To wrestle across the bar booth until one of them dominated the other, and Yuuri was sure that he would be the winner. He left his mark to prove it.

Back when he told Yuuko and Takeshi that he was quitting music for good, Yuuko called him out and asked him why he was throwing away all of his hard work and dedication. Yuuko knew why Yuuri was depressed, but she couldn’t understand why Yuuri would let himself dwell on those thoughts and try to kill his purpose and joy for beating everyone’s expectations.

Back when he growled at Minami just moments ago, he wanted to get rid of the teen because Yuuri didn’t have any support during his first GDC. During the auditioning phase, he had no one to latch onto. No one to comfort him when he messed up big-time on his first piece. Yuuri had to pick himself back up, and he didn’t want Minami to rely on others to make him feel better. But then, wouldn’t that make Yuuri a hypocrite?

Yuuri lived off of applause and cheery smiles from those who listened to him play. Those bright gestures gave him more joy than he could ever say. When he felt down, he turned to his friends and family for support. When he played a duet with YouTube!Viktor, Yuuri visualized his friends and family coming together to free him from his chains so that he could be happy again with his music. He could’ve never gotten those chains off by himself. Because of those who believed and cared for him, Yuuri was set free.

How did he become so callous? Perhaps, it was that dominate voice in his head that was very much a stereotypical alpha voice. It was the voice that would’ve taken Yuuri over if he hadn’t presented as a beta. That scared Yuuri. It was scary to believe that he could become that persona but here he was, adopting the persona’s personality and making people frustrated with him. Yuuri didn’t want that.

Fingers twitching, Yuuri grabbed his viola and bow and got up.

Part One of the auditioning phase was complete. A few hours of downtime before Part Two. Part Two was the energetic, crowd pleaser. There was a definite crowd forming in the concert hall, and Yuuko and her daughters were seated up front so that they could see every little detail with the performances.

Yuuri found Takeshi there, and Takeshi was at ease and happy when he told his family about his feelings and how he hoped that his mistakes won’t cost he and Yuuri a spot in the GDC. Even if Takeshi was annoyed with him, he still included Yuuri into the conversation. At the moment, the Nishigori family didn’t notice that Yuuri was near. He watched from the distance, squinting to read their lips.

Yuuri backed out and left. Being away from his friends made for a healthy experience. To explore the world a little more to expose a horizon that he so rarely got to see. Buying himself a gummy snack from the vending machine, Yuuri sat down and observed the human interactions around him. Even though Yuuri was human, he was very much a robot inside. He couldn’t let everything go his way. He had to observe and learn how to compromise and accept differences. Speak of the Devil, he saw Minami.

Yuuri waved his hand and Minami came over and sat with him.

 _“Hello, Yuuri.”_ The youth was painfully shy, not as expressive when he first met Yuuri just a few hours ago. Yuuri gave an acknowledging nod. Threw in a smile to make him seem more warm and friendly. _“Boy, I’m not sure if I’m going to do alright.”_

_“What piece are you playing?”_

Minami froze. He lifted his head slowly. Yuuri blinked at him, tilting his head in a curious way. Minami blinked back. Did Yuuri speak? Minami shook his head. Yuuri couldn’t have. From the little interviews that did talk about Yuuri’s deafness, Yuuri never spoke. He either typed his responses, wrote them on a whiteboard, or he used sign-language while an interpreter translated the message.

Perhaps, Minami was tired and his mind decided to play games with him. But, a voice did ask him a question. It’d be rude to not respond.

_“I’m playing ‘River Flows in You’ on my PIccolo.”_

_“That’s a fun piece to play.”_

Minami glanced up and saw Yuuri’s lips move. Despite his rounded words and quietness, Minami understood what Yuuri said. Yuuri gave Minami a heartwarming smile and leaned across the table so that he could speak to Minami better. This was sharp contrast to the interaction a few hours ago. This Yuuri was nicer, calmer, and he looked more energetic and was happier. It was strange, but Minami still trusted Yuuri. He didn’t back away but leaned in closer to hear what Yuuri had to say.

 _“During my first GDC, I was really bad at the auditions, too.”_ Yuuri licked his lips, formulating what his next words would be. It felt more natural to sign everything, but he doubted that Minami knew enough sign-language to understand. Deep down, Yuuri knew that exposing a bit more of himself was the better idea than hiding behind a tired old habit. _“I went solo. My first piece was pretty off.”_ Yuuri laughed, and he could afford to laugh now. Laughing was good for the heart and soul, and it eased off the worry that was high on Minami’s brow. He laughed too and asked Yuuri how badly it turned out. Yuuri leaned back in his seat, scratching his chin comically. _“Out of tune, off beat, screeched my first few notes because my bow wasn’t close enough to my bridge. The usual.”_

 _“Wow!”_ Minami wiped the tears from his eyes. _“That sounds like my performance~ Off beat, out of tune, and screechy first notes.”_

 _“Yep yep.”_ Collecting himself, Yuuri reeled the conversation back to what Minami wanted. _“I didn’t have anybody to comfort me at the time. I knew I was a lost, but I was too scared to reach out and ask for help. Knowing that I had to do better for my second piece, I picked myself up and moved on from the past.”_

_“Was it that easy?’_

Yuuri shook his head. _“It was really hard. The one thing that comforted and gave me support was that I knew that my friends and family were there for me. They weren’t there-there, but they believed in me. For years, they’ve told me that I could do anything if I believed in myself. So, I started to believe.”_

 _“Is this the part where you tell me that I need to believe in myself?”_ Minami asked, shoulders sagging.

 _“This is the part where I look at you in the eye and say, ‘I believe in you, Minami.’”_ Yuuri reached out and shook Minami’s hand. _“I know how it feels to be in a place where you feel like you’re all alone, and I don’t want someone to get stuck like I did.”_

And with those parting words, Yuuri got up and left. He licked the roof of his mouth and bought himself a water bottle. It had been a long time since he talked that much. When was the last time? _Viktor._ That was the only thought that crossed Yuuri’s mind as Part Two of the auditioning phase began.

Backstage, Takeshi waited for Yuuri and greeted his duet partner with open arms. He was a bit curious as to where Yuuri spent his free time, but Yuuri signed that everything was alright and that he studied his conscience for the better. Takeshi raised an eyebrow but didn’t question his friend any further. They had a performance to do, and an audience to entertain.

They didn’t have costumes to switch into, but Yuuri did fold back his sleeves for a more “loose look”. Takeshi helped style Yuuri’s hair, and Yuuri poked his leftover gummy snacks into Takeshi’s mouth to keep him entertained. Takeshi didn’t want to change, but Yuuri insisted that he should look a little different. Cue Takeshi disappearing for five minutes and returning with Yuuko’s sports jacket tied around his waist. Takeshi looked like a soccer mom, but he looked more casual. That was a plus!

Now, they had to wait. Scores for Part One were be totaled. Low to high. That was how it was always done. Saved the best for last. Takeshi gulped and drained an entire water bottle without breathing. Yuuri comforted his partner and led Takeshi through some breathing exercises. It really did help, and it distracted Takeshi long enough so that he wasn’t tempted to buy an energy drink from a local vending machine. While the two waited for their turn, they watched the performances from the sideline and clapped the loudest in the back while the audience did its usual cheering.

How long has it been since Yuuri was on a stage? He didn’t remember. The closest memory was of the Moscow Symphony incident, but he was a stronger violist now than then. No more freezing for him. And speaking of freezing, Yuuri patted Minami’s shoulder when it was the youth’s turn to perform.

_“I believe in you.”_

Holding back his tears, Minami squeezed Yuuri a quick hug before jogging onstage with his piccolo and tap-dancing shoes. Why tap-dancing shoes? You see, Minami held onto a belief. A belief that said that if you were going to entertain and make others smile, you were going to dance on the world’s stage.

_“For our next performance, we have Minami Kenjirou and he will be performing ‘River Flows in You’ by Yiruma.”_

The audience clapped briefly and fell into silence. Minami tapped his feet. Hearing the clicks gave him reassurance, along with knowing that his idol believed in him. Closing his eyes, Minami pictured himself as a butterfly emerging from its shell.

The flickering high notes lifted himself higher into air until he was able to open his eyes and observe the meadow that was all around him from the start. Up so high, he could’ve touched the sun if he wanted to, but Minami hovered close to the ground and played his music. He swayed to and fro until the song grew in strength and Minami was allowed to move. He tapped out the bass melody while his piccolo rode high over his lips to sing a song that made rivers weep in rejoice than in pain.

Yuuri watched carefully from the sideline, admiring Minami’s step sequence and the gentle sweeping motion of his feet that must’ve taken a long time to prepare for. Yuuri couldn’t tear his eyes away from the performance. The swirling footsteps and improv captured Yuuri’s attention, but he didn’t just stare at Minami’s feet. Minami’s face was flushed with orange and gold from the stage lights, and his hair stuck out brightly. Just like the boy’s personality. Behind the piccolo, there was an ever growing smile. And there was an energetic buzz flowing through the boy’s body and emptying out onto the audience.

With the last fleeting notes, Minami held his composure as he tried a signature move for the first time. _Yuuri’s_ signature move. A running start before twirling into the air, landing on both feet and dipping one knee down for a slide. Jazz hands up in the air, tears rolled down Minami’s cheeks when the audience exploded in applause. A standing ovation. Minami bowed his head and waved at everyone before retreating backstage.

Yuuri gave Minami a fist bump, and Minami blew his nose into a tissue before returning the bump. Takeshi came from behind and ruffled Yuuri’s hair, proud to have realized that his friend gave Minami the encouraging boost he needed. Yuuri waved Takeshi away, but Takeshi nuzzled Yuuri’s cheek and gave him a big hug. Yuuri flailed his hands, and Takeshi flailed his own hands too before spinning Yuuri around in his hug and setting his friend down.

 _“Best apology ever,”_ Takeshi commented, fist-bumping Yuuri. The little bump melted away and the bright lights of the stage melted in when it was their turn to perform. Somehow and some way, they were the last ones to perform. That meant two things. One, they had the highest score so far. Two, if they did really well now, a ticket to the GDC was final. More than ever, they leaned on each other for support.

Out on centre stage, Yuuko and her daughters cheered the hardest when the announcer introduced them.

_“For our last performance, we have a duet between Nishigori Takeshi and Katsuki Yuuri. They will be performing ‘Stammi Vicino’ by Matsushiba Taku and Ensemble FOVE.”_

The silence all around them was striking. Takeshi gulped. Sure, he had heard this piece plenty of times before on the radio or on YouTube. This was it. If he messed up now, he couldn’t call himself a pianist. Oh well. Some things were worth fighting for. Takeshi glanced at Yuuri, and Yuuri glanced back with a dazzling grin. Breathing lightly, Takeshi gave Yuuri the signal before starting the piece. Yuuri counted carefully and his viola’s voice chimed in when a voice was needed.

A buttery voice from the distance melted over the audience, and Yuuri began his dance. It was much like the dance during the debut YouTube video Minako had posted sometime ago. Instead of improv, Yuuri stepped and moved with a formula. The formula played out in his head as his and Takeshi’s voices merged together for the duet part of the song. Yuuri playing low. Takeshi playing high. They switched voices halfway through the song, and Yuuri played the high notes like he was born to play them while Takeshi became the steady counter that held them both together.

Takeshi pictured his wife and his beautiful children by his side and their Love gave him strength. Yuuri pictured someone from his past. Three people. It was the same person, but in three different forms.

The first was a willowy teen with long, platinum hair rolling down his shoulders. The hair so close that Yuuri could reach out and touch it if he wanted to. The next was a man with short hair, and Yuuri remembered how the man’s smile seemed to make the audience fall in love with him and the music. The last individual was the same man, but he was a dancer that was returning Yuuri’s advances and leading and following him through a rushed tango while nothing mattered, except for each other.

But in all of those meetings, the one thing that drove Yuuri closer were the eyes. The baby blue eyes splashed in green and glowing with gold as another medal was added to a never-ending collection. That was what Yuuri had in mind, and those eyes captured his heart when the piece ended and the audience gave Yuuri and Takeshi a standing ovation.

Viktor was never one to dull a surprise, and Yuuri was quickly catching up to that status. He and Takeshi bowed their heads to the audience and hopped off stage. Yuuko was crying in the front row. Lutz was waving at her father and Yuuri. Axel snapped as many pictures as she could Loop tossed flowers onstage and whistled. Takeshi and Yuuri hugged it out one more time and that was that.

In the present, Takeshi was shaking Yuuri’s shoulder. After a bit, Yuuri finally came around and opened his eyes. His face nuzzled against his plane seat. A pack of salty peanuts in his hand. Drool or water dripping down his cheek. Outside, the sky was dark and the approaching city lights woke Yuuri up. He stretched and glanced over at his friend. Takeshi filled Yuuri in on the details. The plane was landing in fifteen minutes. They’ll find something light to eat before checking into their hotel. After a nice shower to rejuvenate their sore bodies, they would go back to sleep and wake up to an Australian morning.

“Had a nice sleep?”

 _“It was alright. I had a funny dream.”_ Yuuri yawned and snacked on some peanuts. Ears numb, Yuuri pulled off his headphones and rubbed his poor ears. They were popping to get used to the air pressure, and Yuuri held his breath so that his ears could get situated. Takeshi held his breath too, and Yuuri and Takeshi tried to see who could puff out their cheeks more. Takeshi ended up winning, so Yuuri threw a pack of peanuts at his friend before bursting into laughter.

With the plane landed and their sore and tired legs moving for the first time in hours, Takeshi told Yuuri to follow the crowd to the luggage claim area while he took care of business in the restroom. So off Yuuri was. In a foreign environment as he followed a crowd of people who looked like they knew where they were going. Yuuri read the signs and arrows and found his way to the luggage claim.

A little ways away, a crowd from Russia was coming in from the opposite side. Yuri rubbed his ears and tried to stretch his back. A happy Mila hoisted Yuri into the air, and she spun the youth around before Yuri hissed and scratched her. Being the voice of reason, Georgi told Mila and Yuri to wait for the luggage while he went to the restroom to wash his hands.

Already at the claim was Otabek and Viktor, and their belongings were the first ones to emerge. Bass on his back and things at his side, Otabek wondered why Viktor was still waiting. The alpha already had his things, but Viktor was staring at the conveyor belt. His attention was at another luggage claim, and Otabek saw a familiar oriental in the distance. _Yuuri Katsuki._ Viktor told Otabek that he’ll meet him outside for a taxi. Before Otabek said anything, Viktor wheeled his things and went over to where Yuuri was.

Viktor walked carefully, unraveling the scarf that was around his neck. By some magic, the pink bite mark was still there after all this time. Viktor had to be smart about this. He had to make it a coincidence. Show up or accidently bump into Yuuri. Or perhaps, greet from a distance and come closer when Yuuri returned the greeting. Play it off natural before telling Yuuri that he remembered the violist fondly and that he couldn’t wait to play a duet with him one day. Something romantic like that. Viktor didn’t know. He was going to work on the fly.

But then, Viktor caught sight of the Russian Yuri rushing past him. Why was he running? Maybe to the restroom? To buy a pretzel? Who knew? It didn’t concern Viktor. What mattered was that after all this time, he met Yuuri Katsuki again. Viktor was near enough so he pulled off his scarf and called out, _“Yuuri~!”_

One of them turned around. Yuri Plisetsky turned around and gave Viktor a hasty wave before bolting to a vending machine by a corner. Yuuri Katsuki, _the beholder of Viktor’s affections_ , didn’t turn away. Back towards Viktor, Yuuri rocked back and forth over his heels before he leaned forward to grab some heavy suitcases and rolled off with them. Viktor stood where he was. Frozen. Yuri Plisetsky was far much farther away from Viktor, but he heard Viktor. Yuuri Katsuki was closer, but he didn’t even flinch when he heard Viktor’s voice. The violist was relaxed, not a care on his shoulder as he waited for some luggage.

A heavy blow to Viktor’s heart.

 _“Didn’t I mean something to you?”_ Viktor watched Yuuri Katsuki disappear into a crowd, and he never saw the violist again.

Meanwhile outside while waiting for a taxi, Yuuri texted to Takeshi of where he was. Within three minutes, Takeshi was out and he was unzipping his jacket. It was a lot warmer in Australia than in Japan. Jackets and scarves and gloves were pulled off as a hungry line of taxis rushed by with international musicians and tourists coming in for the upcoming GDC performance. The languages all around Takeshi confused him, but he knew enough English to get by. The heavy accents were hard to understand, but he managed to get his point across when he flagged down a taxi car.

Yuuri and Takeshi weren’t hungry, so they planned to go straight to the hotel, grab the room keys, and sleep. Well, Yuuri planned on brushing his teeth while Takeshi planned on video calling his wife and kids to let them know that he and “Uncle Yuuri” were safe and sound. It was going to be a peaceful night. That was the plan. At the hotel and at the front desk, Takeshi signed in and waited for the room keys while Yuuri sat on a squishy sofa and drank some water that was in a glass jar with fruit floating inside it. He barely finished his cup when Takeshi came around and dragged Yuuri to an elevator so that they could set their belongings away to hit the hay.

Meanwhile back at the hotel front desk, there was a bit of a problem for the Russian party. _Well,_ for half of the party. Mila jangled the room keys between her fingers and told Yuri and Georgi that she had first dibs on a shower. Georgi didn’t mind since he wanted to explore the hotel, and Yuri just wanted to go to sleep.

“You know that morning showers are superior, right?”

“Don’t start an argument with me, Plisetsky.” Mila covered her ears and Yuri tried to reach for a room key, but Mila held the keys out of his reach. Georgi snapped pictures of the hotel and admired the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He missed this. The international feel, the lovely decor all around a hotel’s lobby, and the mingling of different cultures and faces. _This_ was what Georgi wanted, and he never thought he would see all of this again. But more importantly, he and Mila were free.

Mila was more much expressive here than back at Moscow. So if Mila felt safe enough to drop her guard, Georgi did too. He dropped the fake smiles and took a more appreciative expression as he admired the architecture and design of the hotel. However, that exploration was short-lived. There was a problem with Viktor and Otabek. It was a mystery whether Viktor or Otabek knew about it first. The hotel was full to the brim, and there wasn’t an empty room left.

Viktor, being a seasoned veteran, understood the difficulties and asked if there were any rooms that were willing to share two more guests. Otabek was chill about it, but there was a deep seed of regret in his chest. He and Viktor had told each other beforehand that they were booking separate rooms from each other. In Viktor’s defense, he forgot all about it. In Otabek’s defense, people kept dragging him away from his phone and laptop when he tried to book a room.

Now the worst fear was if there were no rooms willing to accommodate two more guests. The receptionist stared at the list for a very long time. So long that Otabek started to lose hope. But then, the receptionist perked up and said that there was one room that was willing to share. She passed to Viktor a spare set of keys to the hotel room and wished him and Otabek a goodnight.

“You don’t have to apologize, Otabek. Stuff like this gets to the best of us sometimes.”

Otabek nodded, but he still felt bad about it. Before Yuri could fire an insult from his old engine, Mila slapped a piece of gum into his mouth and picked up the boy and his devil of an instrument case and raced off to an elevator. Like in those old school cartoons, Georgi grabbed all the luggage and tailed after Mila while a cloud of dust hovered over where Georgi was previously.

Yes, cartoon physics cannot be contained only to visual media, and fanfics can use a little bit of them to over exaggerate a point that didn’t actually happen, but it’s for comedy sake and Otabek needed a good laugh to make himself feel a little better. Room keys to Room 609. Aboard the elevator, Otabek pressed the button for the sixth floor, and he and Viktor waited as the elevator brought them up.

During that time, Viktor flipped through his phone to read the news while Otabek looked outside. They were by the beach and ocean. A full moon drifted over the dark horizon. A milling of cars came in and out of the parking lot and ventured off into the bright lights of Sydney, Australia. Otabek couldn’t believe it. He was here. It was all thanks to Viktor.

Around two months ago-- _the author swears that this is the last flashback--_ Otabek was waiting outside of Yakov’s office, waiting for a duet partner to show up. He promised himself that the next person that came up the stairs would be his partner. Lo and behold, Viktor Nikiforov appeared before Otabek, and the omega couldn’t back out of his promise. At the time, he had his registration clutched tightly in his hands. Crumbled under his grip. Viktor didn’t seem interested in Otabek. He came by the concert hall so rarely that new faces didn’t faze him anymore.

What did gather Viktor’s interest was the GDC registration form that was crumbled in Otabek’s hands.

 _“Yakov is back?”_ he asked.

 _“He arrived in Moscow this morning. I’m his newest student,”_ Otabek added. He didn’t know why he added that. Maybe he wanted to prove something to Viktor, but he _didn’t_ have anything to show for it. He was fresh meat compared to Viktor, and the alpha was on an entirely different level. But even so, Viktor was polite and wished Otabek the best before disappearing into Yakov’s office. Otabek thought about leaving, but his feet were planted firmly in the crowd.

He promised himself that the next person up was to be his duet partner. If Viktor Nikiforov was that person, then Otabek couldn’t turn away. An opportunity like this came only once in a lifetime. Besides, Otabek was savvy with the news. Viktor had a bet with Yuri Plisetsky, and one of the rules was that both of them had to find a duet partner.

Otabek didn’t know about Yuri, but he was very sure that Viktor didn’t have a partner. He saw it in the way Viktor walked. The man strolled down the hall like he had nothing on his mind, and with an air of confidence that only came when you were a soloist. That alone told Otabek to stay, and he did stay.

He stayed until the Yakov’s office door opened and Viktor strolled out with a registration paper in his hands. Otabek spoke first.

_“I heard that you’re looking for a duet partner for the GDC.”_

Viktor paused in his tracks. _“Word sure does travel fast.”_ The alpha turned his head slightly, and Otabek stood his ground against Viktor’s haunting stare. _“What makes you believe that we’ll be partners?”_

_“The whole reason why I came here was to find my Love for music again.”_

_“You thought that I could help you with that?”_ Viktor’s lips curved into a grin.

_“I believe that you can. I’m willing to show for it.”_

_“Be my guest. I’ll be in the practice room down the hall on the south side. See you there.”_ With that, Viktor walked down the stairs and it took Otabek a few moments to realize what just happened. Viktor wanted to see him perform. This would make or break everything for Otabek. Deep down, he knew that Viktor wouldn’t turn him away, but there was still that possibility where Otabek believed that he was wrong about everything. Nonetheless, he couldn’t dwell on those thoughts. He had to stay calm to perform his very best. Rushing down the stairs to grab his instrument, Otabek leafed through his sheet music for a capable piece that showed off all of his techniques.

Slipped from his music binder was the [ _Bach Cello Suite no. 1_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=poCw2CCrfzA) _._ Upon a music stand in the practice room that Viktor was in, Otabek tuned carefully and plucked through the beginning once before resting his bow across his starting string. Viktor sat comfortably on a piano bench, finger by his lip as he waited. Then, in a swift but gentle pull, the notes flowed from Otabek’s cello like water from a stream. The cello’s mature and mellow voice sung like an opera singer as his message was carried across the ripples of time to reach Viktor’s ears.

Viktor was the King on a throne while Otabek was a humble Servant outside the kingdom, playing his share so that he could one day stand beside Viktor and serenade the man’s piano skills. But first, he had to vanquish the poisonous dragon that lurked in the shadows. Otabek’s bow transformed into a silver hilted sword. His cello as his shield, Otabek climbed over noteheads and rhythm bars to venture higher and higher into the air before he jumped down and stabbed his word through the dragon’s chest with one swoop. The snapping reptile screamed in anguish and a green blaze escaped from his jaws as it snapped its mouth in retaliation. Otabek dug his sword farther into the dragon’s chest until its black blood stained everything that Otabek owned and loved.

With the beast down, Otabek freed his bow and ran into Viktor’s stone castle. A puzzling maze filled with trap doors and staircases leading to nowhere. Playing his cello, Otabek listened to the echoes and followed the echoes that led to an end. Leaping across great chasms that fell before his feet, holding onto thin candle branches as he made his way across an acid floor, and using his cello as a boat when murky waters came his way. Otabek rowed, rowed, rowed his boat gently down the stream. Merrily along he came to a stop, and a troll was towering above him, you see? Otabek dove to safety as a fractured club swung down at him. Cello as a shield, bow as a sword, Otabek sliced and pricked the troll’s feet into the mighty gatekeeper tripped and drowned in the murky water. Thrashing and then disappearing almost all at once.

The last bit. Otabek climbed up a winding spiral of stair steps until he reached a wooden door and cracked it open. Inside was Viktor. He found Viktor, but the alpha was lifeless and drained as he sat in a chair in the middle of a very empty stone room. Bunches of long hair were swept to the side. Otabek touched Viktor’s cheek. The man was alive, but he was dead inside. A locket around his neck. A picture of a past love that promised to save him, but they never came. Carrying Viktor bridal-style, Otabek trooped down the stair steps. Found the river. Dropped his cello over the water and it transformed into a boat. Carefully placed Viktor into the boat and Otabek rowed down the river with his bow.

Eventually, Viktor started to move. His sallow skin brightened up into something youthful. When he escaped the castle, his whole being swelled up with Life. Clutching his locket, now he waited for Love. No, he was going to find his Love. And with that, the Knight and the Princess/King/Royal-Figure were out of the story book and in reality once more.

Otabek held his breath before Viktor’s judgement. Viktor was staring down at his own hands. As if there was a locket of his Love there. Just beyond his reach, just beyond his sight. Viktor tightened his hands and got up. Otabek was still, but his heart was beating a hundred times per second.

_“You told me that you were looking for your Love for music again. How did you lose it?”_

_“Like anyone else,”_ Otabek replied, simply. _“Expectations, how your peers judge you, and you that dreadful feeling where you cannot surprise the audience anymore.”_ All of those answers were knife wounds to Viktor’s heart. Someone almost a decade younger than him felt what he felt. He couldn’t say that Otabek understood, but it was safe to say that Otabek had come to understand where the fine line between fun and work was. Otabek was done working. He had soldiered on the beliefs of others, and it was time for him to put all of that aside to pursue his own quest to find Love again. Viktor respected that. Very much, he did.

_“In turn for helping you, may you help me find my Love for music again?”_

Otabek was already putting away his sheet music, but he froze for just a moment to ponder on the idea. _“Does everyone meet this roadblock?”_

 _“I’ve met it three times. The first two, someone saved me. I want to find them again, and I believe you can help me.”_ Not a hint of a lie in Viktor’s eyes, and Otabek really did feel like a Knight just then. They shook on the idea. Both ready and willing to find the Love that the other was desperately searching for.

In the present, the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor. Viktor and Otabek stumbled out and walked quietly across the soft carpet. Following Viktor, Otabek remembered that back at the airport, the pianist had eyes on Yuuri Katsuki. He wondered…

“Viktor?”

Viktor gave an acknowledging nod.

“Is the Love you’re searching for participating in the GDC?”

Viktor didn’t have to turn around for Otabek to know that the pianist was smiling. “He is. I’m not sure how he feels about me, but I’m ready to tell him how I feel. _If he cares to listen.”_

The last part was reserved for just Viktor, but the alpha said it out loud so Otabek heard it too. An unrequited love had the worst sting, and Otabek could smell the fear wafting off of Viktor. He was scared and possibly having second thoughts about going through this, but Otabek did promise to help Viktor. _The Dark Horse of Kazakhstan_ never went back on his word.

Stepping front of Room 609, Viktor inserted the room key. The door opened anyway.

Just a while back, Yuuri retreated into the bathroom with his toothbrush while Takeshi initiated a video call back to home. Yuuri glanced around the bathroom when he switched on the lights. Marble finishes, a huge bathtub for bubble baths and for soaking feet, a see-through shower if one cared about that at all, and a fancy sink with three different kinds of soaps. Yuuri wavered.

Setting his toothbrush down, Yuuri sniffed the soap bottles and read their names. There was lavender, apple, and coconut. Yuuri washed his hands with each soap and sniffed his fingers after he dried them off with a towel. Over in the shower area, there some body washes, shampoos, and conditioners. Labeled accordingly for an alpha or an omega guest. Yuuri would have to sniff those later. Unsurprisingly, there were no beta shampoos or conditioners or body washes. But, Yuuri knew the best combination for himself. Omega conditioner and shampoo for his hair. Alpha body wash for the rest of himself. Perfect combination for a happy and healthy Yuuri.

No. He had to control himself. Grabbing his toothbrush, Yuuri fished through his pockets for a tube of toothpaste. Did Yuuri carry toothpaste with him all the time? Maybe. He liked sniffing peppermint when he traveled and if he got that from toothpaste, then he carried toothpaste with him. Nothing weird about that. Yuuri splashed water over his toothpaste and rinsed some water around in his mouth before brushing his teeth.

The scent of sharp peppermint lulled Yuuri into ease, and the gentle rhythm of brushing one’s teeth was quite calming. Yuuri liked these moments the most. Safe, calm, and quiet. He liked it a lot. It allowed his mind to be free and open, and he strange thoughts could wander into his head and he wouldn’t object to any of them. One thought in particular popped up like a storm.

Viktor was in Australia. Yuuri didn’t need to read the news or skim through an entire airport to know that. Viktor was in Sydney, a competitor in the GDC. Most likely with a duet partner by his side because of a bet he made with Yuri Plisetsky. Just thinking about the bass player ached Yuuri’s lower back.

 _If Yuri wins, Viktor doesn’t retire. If Viktor wins, he can retire._ Yuuri didn’t realize he was still brushing one part of his mouth until three minutes passed by. In all the years that Yuuri followed and watched Viktor’s performances on TV and on the internet, he had never seen the alpha lose to anybody. If that was anything to believe, Viktor had already won this bet. Safe and done. But, he was willing to go through it all and perform one last time for the world before he could disappear for good. _If he does win, will he retire right away or would he wait a little longer?_

Ultimately, it was Viktor’s choice and Yuuri wasn’t Viktor. He was just a violist that was lucky enough to have another go at the GDC. By now, Yuuri was doodling a toothpaste beard and mustache over his face to pass the time. His teeth were scrubbed thoroughly, but he didn’t want to clean his mouth right away. That childish notion for pretend play was still in Yuuri’s bones, and he wanted to stay as a child a little longer before retreating back into adulthood. But with all good things, they had to end.

Yuuri spat out his toothpaste, washed his mouth, gurgled, rinsed, wiped his face clean and was ready to bust out of the bathroom. Temptation got over him and he opened the shampoo bottles, the conditioner jars, and the body wash cups to smell all the different scents. Turning on the shower head and avoiding the water as much as he could, Yuuri ran his head under the water and tested out the different bottles before him. Rich cinnamon seeped out from the omega shampoo bottle, and Yuuri was a little addicted to it. He rubbed the shampoo deeply into his hair before washing it off to try the conditioner.

He couldn’t experiment with the body washes, but he was tempted to try them out. At this point, Yuuri had to drag himself away from the scents before they drove him crazy. He had to rest up and prepare for practice. Not lock himself in a see-through shower just so that he can lay in a puddle of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. Don’t get Yuuri started on the bar soap by the bathtub. He had to get out of here. ASAP.

Reaching for the door, just as Yuuri opened it, the door retaliated. Yuuri slipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Celebrate with me peeps. This story hit 100 pages. 100 pages of pure goodness! Oh my gosh~ This is a record. The longest story I've typed was 64 pages. This ongoing multi-chapter fanfic has exceeded 100 pages. Whoop whoop!*
> 
> Viktor, Viktor, Viktor...Viktor. That's all I can say right now. That poor man's heart is broken because he thought Yuuri was ignoring him. Or worse *le gasp* Yuuri doesn't love him anymore.
> 
> ~~~~~~~
> 
> I do recognize that this story has its faults because it's so dragging, but I'm glad to know that it's viewed as an average story at best. It's hard satisfying everyone and this chapter may be viewed as a waste of words, but if you're going to fast forward all of a sudden, you do end up having to explain what happened in between then and now.
> 
> My approach was probably the worst in execution, but I do want to establish what I need to establish or risk confusion and angry comments later on. I have to sacrifice time, energy, and reader satisfaction if I have to. All the random quirks and interactions do have a place in the story, and it's not because of improper planning. You can choose to skim over them or not, it's up to the reader, but do recognize that if a writer focuses on something for a long time, it may play an important part to the story Whether now or later.
> 
> Ultimately, this is a story about character motivation, how they deal with this world, and how interactions influence decisions and growth. It adds to the realistic portrayal for an AU that is so commonly not realistic. I understand that this technique distracts from the main plot and may bore the readers, but if a reader is dissatisfied with the approach, they can read something else that satisfies them.
> 
> I didn't want to add visual breaks to where flashbacks occurred because it's not my style, and it wouldn't flow with the story. I feared it would distract and deter sometime from what was going on, but I don't mind if you copy and paste the chapter in a word document and physically separate the flashbacks.
> 
> With that, I apologize for disappointing so many of you and you deserve better by reading another story than this one.
> 
> ~~~~
> 
> If y'all want to pester me on Tumblr or just want to be my buddy or just want to ask about this realistic omegaverse, hit me up at https://mvjoey.tumblr.com/


	10. /Author's Note/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretty important

I will not be continuing this fanfic. I know this will upset people, but I don't have the drive nor the motivation to continue this story any longer. Perhaps, I'll come back one day but even then, I'm not sure. Why am I leaving this story? This fic has given me a lot of drive and it's one of my longest stories to date, but this is why I'm drawing it to a close. I know what ending the stories need, but I don't think I'm the writer who'll bring that ending to life.

I'm not confident with my writing-style right now, and there are still a lot of things for me to learn about what I want to do before pursuing it. I need to brush up on my basics and learn how to tell a proper story. I've lost focus of where I was and now I don't know where to go. I know if I keep going, I won't serve the best for the characters and that is the biggest disappoint I could do. For the time being, I need to recollect my thoughts and understand what I'm writing for.

Am I writing because I want to? Am I writing because I want to read a story that I've never read before? Am I writing because writing is the only thing I'm decent at and that I'm worth nothing without it? Am I writing because I'm writing what people want to read? I don't know. It's given me some things to think about for the time being. Just for a while, I haven't been happy with what I've been writing and I think it's best to take a break, slow down, and see the big picture. Dust my head off or something and try to understand what's going on.

I won't be deleting this story, but keep in mind that I might never come back to it. Who knows? Maybe one of you can continue the story and write it better than I ever could. That's a thought to keep in mind. I'm not in a happy state of mind right now, and I just want to be alone and explore what I need to take care of.

It was a pleasure writing for all of you, and I apologize for being a failure. Once again.

 

[More in depth reason...](https://mvjoey.tumblr.com/post/159540112490/disappear)


	11. You Can Start Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could everyone live such a peaceful life when Yuuri's world seemed to be falling apart at every step of the way. He didn't notice it at first. A minor crack, a single fracture that could easily be hidden under a smile or mask. But like fragile glass, it cracked over itself to reveal something...sinister underneath.
> 
> *a chapter inspired by a very scary and real anxiety attack*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo~ Thank you for the nice words and for some of the motivation y’all sent my way. One of y’all even contacted me on Tumblr to make sure that I was okay. I’m very fortunate that people reached out. Whether to comfort or motivate me to pick myself back up. I’m very grateful for all of that, and I’m thankful that this story has entertained/influenced people in seemingly positive ways.
> 
> I won’t delete the author’s note. Real life happens so why would I attempt to hide something that was very real to me? Besides, if I ever relapse again, I can look back and grow stronger from the comments that y’all left behind for me. I don’t want to give up this story. Deep inside me, I want to continue this story until the end. This is the first story that’s grown this far and I can’t bring myself to get rid of it now. This story is my poison but it’s my remedy.
> 
> Some of you might be concerned that I’m jumping back onto this story so quickly. Well, in my anxiety and self-hate, I found inspiration to continue this story. It’s not the first time someone has compared me to Yuuri Katsuki, so I thought to myself: What would Yuuri do?

    Viktor wasn’t one to dull a surprise. When a surprise came, music and an air of mystique followed the Russian like a cape behind his shoulders. He was no hero, but he indeed was one. When the friendly Japanese man occupying Room 609 ripped open the bathroom door, Viktor didn’t encounter a fallen angel or a Lover’s muse that had his wings clipped. He saw a young man with anguish splashed across his face. An individual who had fallen and truly couldn’t get up. An earlier yelp heightened Viktor’s senses. His instincts took over. Approaching the fallen violist, Viktor offered a helping hand to pull Yuuri back onto his feet.

    The violist glanced up at him, eyebrow raised. Viktor bent his knees and kept his hand out. Only Time knew how long that silence stood before Yuuri finally reached forward and grabbed Viktor’s hand. Very slowly, very carefully. Yuuri climbed back onto his feet. Viktor wrapped a supportive arm over and around him. The beta flinched at the touch. Viktor loosened his grip, keeping his touch light. Yuuri latched onto Viktor’s right side, wrinkling the man’s shirt with his vicegrip. Slow shuffles towards one of the two beds that were in the room.

Hissing like a goose, Takeshi picked up the glasses that Yuuri left after the fall. He could’ve easily crushed them with his grip, but Otabek spoke first and mumbled that it was best if Takeshi prepared a cool towel. Ice cubes if they could be found.Compress the weight over Yuuri’s wound to reduce the swelling and the prominent bruise on his lower back.

    “T-That’s a great idea.” Wrapping Otabek’s fingers around Yuuri’s glasses, Takeshi snagged the first towel he saw off the shower rack and rushed out the room for some ice.

    Within about fifteen minutes, Yuuri found himself laying across a bed, belly-side down. An attentive Takeshi had to end a video call early with his mate as he fluffed up Yuuri’s pillow and made sure that his friend was comfortable. The anxiety wafting off of Takeshi’s body made Otabek quite uncomfortable, but the younger omega offered a helping hand so that Takeshi wouldn’t work himself to the ground.

In Takeshi’s eyes, it was his fault that Yuuri injured his back. Just moments ago, Takeshi approached the front door and saw a piano legend and a cello prodigy right on the other side. The moment afterwards, Takeshi swung the door wide open to invite the two in. As soon as a painful yelp escaped from the bathroom, all the blood drained out of Takeshi’s face. The once gleeful smile over his face sunk to reveal a forever trembling lip.

    He had let Yuuri down, _again_. If Yuuri couldn’t perform for the first GDC performance, it would all be Takeshi’s fault. A heavy ball and chain tangled the omega’s limbs. Yuuri signed that he was going to be okay. That after a night or two, his back should get better. Takeshi shook his head and made sure that the makeshift ice pack wasn’t burning Yuuri’s skin. The beta had no complaints so far, but Takeshi fussed and fussed as much as he could to right his wrongs. Following the signed conversation with his eyes, Otabek excused himself before entering the bathroom.

    There, he saw Viktor with his sleeves rolled back. In his hands was a towel drenched in warm water. The running faucet kept the pianist distracted as he drenched and squeezed the towel until every last drop of water fell. He hadn’t noticed Otabek yet. Otabek cleared his throat. Viktor whipped his head back so quickly that he could’ve popped a bone or a vein if he was old enough.

    A willowy pair of bangs uncovered Viktor’s left eye. “How’s Yuuri?”

    “Fine. His duet partner is making sure that he’s situated.” Otabek half-wondered if he should tell Viktor that Yuuri was hard of hearing. The youth didn’t know for sure but considering that Yuuri and Takeshi spoke entirely in sign language just moments before, it gave the young omega a hunch. Of course, he would have to ask if his observation was correct, but Otabek suspected that Viktor already knew about his lover’s condition. Viktor _did_ know, _right?_

    Viktor returned a smile towards his duet partner. “Get some sleep, Otabek. We’ve had a long day.”

    _“About sleeping arrangements.”_ Otabek gestured for Viktor to follow him. Outside in the main part of the hotel room, Viktor’s attention fell upon the two beds that before him. One was empty. Most likely Takeshi and Otabek were going to share that bed since they were both omegas. That left Viktor with a bed with Yuuri, but Yuuri was injured and he needed his own space. Luckily, by the window, there was a cushioned seat by a glass table laced with hotel coffee bags and cups that were meant for decoration than for use. Viktor figured that he would drag a blanket and sleep there while Yuuri recovered quietly in a bed all to himself. Glancing down at the violist only reconfirmed that plan.

    A dark purple bruise was hitched at the bottom of Yuuri’s back. In the past fifteen minutes, it had blossomed to twice the size it was before, and Yuuri hissed under his breath whenever Takeshi or Otabek readjusted the makeshift ice pack over it. For a brief moment, Yuuri and Viktor’s eyes were locked-on each other before Yuuri broke first and sunk his face deeply into his pillow. To suffocate himself? Well, it _had_ been almost a year since the two last met each other.

    _And I was drunk and you were a smooth criminal._ Viktor mentally facepalmed himself. He needed to focus. He couldn’t let his emotions dictate everything. _Just yet_. There was an injured man before him, and it wasn’t exactly wise to flirt back when you indirectly injured the person of your affections. Better to keep a distance until things smoothed out on their own. And with that approach in mind, Viktor cheerfully offered his train of thought over the sleeping arrangements and sent a gracious wink over to Yuuri’s direction. The violist didn’t see it, but he had a sneaking feeling that someone was staring at him longer than they should’ve.

    Face pressed into his pillow, Yuuri didn’t lift his head until it was pitch black and two a.m. in the room. Patting the lamp stand to his left, Yuuri grabbed his folded glasses and pulled them on. It was too dark to make out anything, but he saw Takeshi’s rising chest as he slept. There was something else on Takeshi’s chest too. Otabek’s head? Were the two omegas hugging in their sleep? Yuuri sure thought so. He imagined Takeshi hugging Otabek as if the youth was his own son and frankly, Yuuri wouldn’t be surprised if that _was_ the case. Pulling his glasses off, Yuuri was about to go back to sleep before his elbow brushed against a bare patch of skin. He froze.

    Yuuri turned to his right. A mop of bangs were by his pillow as a sleeping Viktor lay nearby. Bed covers barely covering his chest, the alpha was in some sort of night gown or bathrobe, and Yuuri easily saw an exposed shoulder in the darkness. The violist backed away. The sudden movement stabbed his lower back and Yuuri remained paralyzed. Movements stiff, Yuuri’s brain worked overtime to grasp what was happening.

    When he had pressed his face into the pillow, everyone was awake. Takeshi appeared to be having a cheerful chat with Otabek about something. Yuuri didn’t read his friend’s lips. He definitely remembered seeing Viktor dragging a blanket out from somewhere before making his way towards the squishy chair by the corner. Darkness came and went and lo and behold, Viktor was by his side. At his most vulnerable state.

    Up close like this, Viktor was like any other human. Terribly vulnerable to consequences that may occur during the night. Helpless under the night’s shadow and with his exposed upper body. Safe and sound as he snoozed near Yuuri, an arm wrapped lazily over the violist’s shoulders as if holding onto Yuuri was the last thing Viktor wanted to do. When Yuuri had moved earlier, Viktor’s arm slid down and rested at the crook of Yuuri’s upper back. Right at the edge before the bed blankets covered the rest. How did Yuuri not notice this earlier? This warmth and peace that made everything seem alright.

    Gulping, Yuuri grabbed a fistful of the blanket and pulled it up so that Viktor wouldn’t be cold. Competitor or not, it was bad form to let your competition catch a cold before the battle began. Not sure how loud his movements were, Yuuri moved slowly in case the bed was springy and loud. Viktor fidgeted in his sleep, nuzzling closer to Yuuri’s side until his nose brushed against the violist’s elbow. Yuuri halved his speed and slowly dragged the blanket up to cover his bedmate. Snug, Viktor rolled over in his sleep and Yuuri managed to tear his gaze away.

    He had to snap out of it. Yuuri might’ve admired the man, but this was different. He couldn’t let his feelings get in the way now. Not with a competition on the horizon. Takeshi needed him to lead, and Yuuri couldn’t be distracted. However, there was still one thing Yuuri _wanted_ to do. One of Viktor’s shoulders was exposed to the elements. The bed covers barely grazed it, so Yuuri did the next best thing. He tugged Viktor’s bathrobe sleeve up and brushed the alpha’s long hair over his neck to keep it warm. _Damn it._ Out of curiosity, Yuuri sniffed his hand and smelled a faint peppermint scent. Was this Viktor’s natural scent?

    He didn’t want to think about it. Smashing his face back onto his pillow, Yuuri hoped that when he woke up, it was all just a dream. Or if it was real, he wouldn’t have to meet Viktor’s gaze when he woke up. Yuuri didn’t know how long he kept his head pressed against the pillow but by the time he lifted it again, the sun was out and he was the only one in the hotel room. The other bed-- _the one where Takeshi and Otabek snoozed in--_ was tidied neatly with folded blankets and fluffed up pillows. Almost as if no one slept in it a few hours before. To Yuuri’s right, there was just a blank space of where Viktor used to be. As if Yuuri hallucinated for the past thirty-something hours and just realized that he was all alone.

    He wasn’t alone. There were suitcases and luggage that weren’t his, and the room was humid. Someone had just finished showering. Either just now or earlier. So the past thirty-something hours weren’t all just a hallucination. They were real, and Yuuri got up too quickly. His lower back screamed in protest, but Yuuri powered through because he had to. A warm towel slid off his bruise and flopped onto the bed. A crumbled post-it note was a bit weak from being damp, but Yuuri managed to make out the cursive writing over it when he pulled on his glasses. Definitely not Takeshi’s handwriting.

    _Ohayou, Yuuri~! By the time you read this, you might still be alone in the hotel room. Your duet partner thought it was best for you to catch up on more sleep while the rest of us got ready for the day. Your bruise doesn’t look back now, but I kept a warm towel over it to help circulate the blood in the area. Try not to get up too quickly!_

A chuckle escaped from Yuuri’s lips. He already broke that promise. Smoothing the rest of the note out, Yuuri continued reading.

    _I hope you didn’t mind having some company last night. You rolled over onto your back at some point, and your yelps woke me up! Carefully rolled you over and stayed close so that you wouldn’t hurt yourself again~ Best wishes, V.N._

    On reflex, Yuuri crumbled the note between his fingers. It wasn’t a dream after all.

Now, easing out of bed wasn’t the hardest part that morning. Checking the hundreds of unanswered texts from Takeshi and his best friend, Phichit, weren’t hard either, but Phichit sure liked  to spam selfies while sending enthusiastic texts. The Thai violist was at the hotel, and Yuuri replied back that he would love to meet up with Phichit again. Perhaps, at the courtyard or the lobby. Despite it being eight in the morning, Phichit replied back within thirty seconds and responded that they could meet up at the pool area. Apparently, a lot of familiar faces were at the pool area.

    _I don’t think I’m ready to see another familiar face._ Yuuri swallowed his saliva before replying back that he would be by the pool soon. Tossing his phone onto the bed, Yuuri tiptoed towards the bathroom. There were no lights on but when Yuuri opened the door, his face was hit with a cloud of steam. He turned on the lights. Very obvious that he wasn’t rooming alone. Hair products dominated the sink area as four toothbrushes were laid out, side by side. Three used body towels drying off on the shower rack. He could smell his roommates’ scents.

    Shying away from the towels, Yuuri dug through his pockets for his peppermint toothpaste and brushed his teeth. Glancing down at the other three brushes, it was very easy to tell which brush matched with who. The slick black and white one belonged to Otabek. The princess-fairy one was Takeshi’s, a birthday gift from his daughters last year. The last one was a thick toothbrush with a detachable hook on the tip to wrestle out food that was hiding behind nooks and crannies. Somehow, that seemed very appropriate for Viktor and Yuuri didn’t know why.

    He had read somewhere that alphas had to take special care of their teeth because they had more canines on their jaws, but it was a random tidbit on the back of a toothbrush packet that Yuuri received years ago during a dentist appointment. Maybe Viktor had more canines than usual. Yuuri would have to ask Viktor to smile later. Going with the motions of a typical morning, Yuuri decided to take a bath so that he could soak a little longer in some hot water. Heck, he made it a bubble bath and bubbles frothed up to his neck. Bubble mustache, bubblebeard, bubble wig. You name it, Yuuri had it.

    Now _here_ was the hardest part of that morning. How was Yuuri going to get up without slipping? Okay, he held onto the sides of the bathtub. No big deal. There was a towel on the floor to dry one’s feet off, so Yuuri got on that and rubbed his toes all over it. Wrapping a towel around himself, Yuuri shuffled into the shower to rinse the suds out of his hair. A bombardment of scents dazed Yuuri’s mind, but he had to focus. Holding his breath, he struggled to escape the shower and later found himself flopped back onto the bed.

    Okay, pool. Did he have anything for a pool setting? Whatever. Yuuri settled on something comfy and left the room with a hotel key and his phone. He wondered where Takeshi was. Perhaps, the gentle omega was sitting at a cafe somewhere, chatting with his wife and kids in a video call. Perhaps, he was somewhere quiet and studying the two songs that he and Yuuri needed to perform in a few days. Or maybe, the omega was already practicing. Yuuri vaguely remembered seeing a piano in the hotel’s lobby. No, not just _a_ piano. There were five or six.

    Possibly, Otabek and Viktor were there too, but wouldn’t Viktor want to practice somewhere private as to not spoil to the public of what he was going to perform? That was a very Viktor-thing to do, but Yuuri wasn’t Viktor. Even though, he wanted to be. For now, Yuuri had to concentrate on the now. He was going to find Phichit. He was going to high-five his old pal and lean in to sniff the lavender scent that wafted off of Phichit like dessert. The two old roommates were going to hug it out, and Phichit was probably going to push him into a pool. It made Yuuri feel better that he was wearing athletic shorts.

    Sneaking onto the scene like a parody spy in _‘007’,_ Yuuri weaved in between mingling crowds of musicians to take a glance at the five or six pianos in the lobby. Sure enough, Takeshi was at one of them and was fingering through a particularly hard passage in the first piece. By the determined look on Takeshi’s face, he was making progress. By the buckets of sweat rolling off his face, Takeshi was very self-conscious of where he was at. Out in the open while musicians from all over the world were watching him from the sidelines. Takeshi kept his eyes on his sheet music, but his mind was bouncing off the wall and stuffing itself with ice cream.

    His neighbor was a pianist with way too much makeup. Heavy eyeshadow that bore into your soul at a single glance. Purple lipstick that went outside of the lines and smeared the man’s shallow cheeks. Pointed hair sharper than a blade, and the madman gobbled down scales and arpeggios like they were a second breakfast. Yuuri silently prayed for Takeshi. _You can do it. Fighting!_

    There were some other pianists that Yuuri didn’t recognize, but _they_ weren’t the ones that were drawing a crowd. Right in the open, spotlight solely on him and his duet partner, Viktor cracked his knuckles before running his hands down the piano keys. Everyone held their breath, and the pianists around Viktor stopped playing and faded into the background. The cellist, Otabek, cocked his head to the side, eyebrow raised at the behavior around him. Then again, it wasn’t every day that people got to see a legend up close and personal. But, Viktor wasn’t the only _one_ who was going to make history. Otabek drew his bow over his cello sharply. Eyes darted towards him.

    Shoulders reared back, he gave Viktor a simple nod and the [pianist began his tune.](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B7F6oGLRoVtPSEtsMlNJZzNtbEU/view?usp=sharing) Otabek quickly followed, and Yuuri forced himself to leave before the crowd grew tighter. Wrestling his way past people, Yuuri ducked through a pair of sliding doors. It wasn’t like he could stay and watch anyway. Yuuri couldn’t hear what was played, but he suspected it was something popular since a lot of people were whipping out their phones to record. Then again, it could’ve been because Viktor was playing, and most people wanted an excuse to have their idol recorded forever on their phone for viewing pleasure.

    Yuuri’s hands twitched. Keeping them away from his pockets and from his phone, Yuuri kept walking. There was definitely a crowd in the pool area too, but most were retreating inside to hear and see Viktor and Otabek’s duet performance. Whatever it was. Yuuri wandered around until he sat down in a pool chair under an umbrella. Beside him was a tanning individual with a map of mirrors before him while sunglasses covered half of his face. A mop of blonde hair under a bed of dark ones. A clean-shaved face with leftover stubble, like leftover corn stalks left behind in a field to remind the world that the field used to house corn stalks. Funny swimming trunks with the word _“Merci”_ stitched across the ‘back pockets.’

    Yuuri squeaked when the individual turned his head and pulled down his sunglasses. Emerald eyes locked-on him.

    “Yuuri?”

    Chris. The Swiss saxophonist that was notorious for his attractive flaws and melting voice. Or so, Yuuri knew all of that from a few fan-pages and the Instagram app. Maybe even on MySpace too, if Yuuri remembered his MySpace username and password. Either way, the saxophonist looked at him with his fluttering eyelashes, and Yuuri suddenly remembered why he was never able to keep up with Chris. The man was always a bit touchy-feeling, and he leaned an arm over and around Yuuri’s shoulders while he signed rapidly about all the commotion and fuss that was exploding over on the social media because of something Viktor-related. Yuuri couldn’t keep up with the signing and that made the violist laugh.

    Just last year, Chris struggled to sign simple phrases without looking over at Phichit or Yuuri for help. Like most musicians, he was shocked to find out that Yuuri was deaf, but he didn’t keep his jaw dropped forever. Chris promised Yuuri that he would pick up sign-language so that the two could keep in touch. Now a year later, Chris was showing Yuuri the fruits of his labor, and Yuuri’s heart swelled up in pride.

    _“Chris, if you sign that fast, I won’t understand what you’re saying.”_ Yuuri punched the saxophonist’s shoulder softly, and Chris covered his comical ”O” mouth before signing,

    _“Sorry about that. It’s hard to control the speed when you practice by yourself.”_

_“You’ve gotten a lot better. Makes me happy that you can sign faster now, but try to slow down. Okay?”_ It was deal. Chris and Yuuri shook on it before a blinding flash made birds circle their heads. Phichit was finally here, and he pretty much glomped Yuuri on the pool seat. Rubbing his cheek against Yuuri’s cheek and effectively scenting the beta until he smelled like a happy-go-happy omega under the heat of the sun. Behind Phichit before the messy glomp were two friends, Guanghong and Leo-- _a violin and voice partnership._ Phichit told them to jump into the group hug, but Guanghong kept his shy distance while Leo sighed and told Phichit to get up before he suffocated Yuuri.

    More familiar faces and they were all glad to see each other again. Especially glad to see Yuuri again since the beta’s face was plastered onto every YouTube video since his internet revival debut nearly two months ago. The talk was fast. Phichit and Chris had gotten better at their signing and were leaving Guanghong and Leo in the dust. Guanghong signed slowly and also spoke so that Yuuri could read his lips. Leo was a little better than Guanghong, but he often looked to Chris or Phichit for help as he reintroduced himself to Yuuri and shook the violist’s hand.

    Yuuri remembered him and Guanghong. The duo scored themselves twentieth place during Yuuri’s first GDC, and they were one of the few musicians that knew about Yuuri’s deafness. Like Chris, they didn’t treat Yuuri differently because of who he was and promised to learn sign-language so that the violist wouldn’t grow tired from reading a multitude of lips. The signing skills were still budding over Guanghong and Leo, but they were getting better with practice and Yuuri appreciated that more than anything.

    “Looks like we’re all here. Emil and the Crispinos are running kind of late. Probably caught up in traffic.” Phichit pointed over at the applauding crowd back in the hotel lobby. Guanghong didn’t look away from his phone as he refreshed his social media pages for a video of Viktor and Otabek’s performance. Leo wondered what was going on while Chris gave his little applause by the pool with a respectful look. He pulled his sunglasses back on when he caught sight of Viktor looking at him, and the saxophonist proceeded to spew random stories about his and Viktor’s crazy adventures when they were both young rivals in the vast and many European concerts.

    While Chris spoke, he signed at a moderate speed so that Yuuri could follow. It was moments like this where Yuuri remembered that Chris knew Viktor on an intimate level, yet the saxophonist admired Viktor as a dear friend and human than a prodigy musician that so many people fooled themselves into believing. Even when behind the sunglasses, Yuuri saw that Chris stared at him briefly as he vaguely described the emotions running through Viktor’s head when he thought about retiring a few months ago. Even Chris didn’t know much about Viktor in regards to that, but he knew a few things that Viktor wanted to hide. Chris kept his mouth shut, but he looked onto Yuuri and the violist stared blankly back at him.

    “Oh, have all of you heard about the news circulating around lately?”

    “Who has time to read the news when you’re practicing twenty-four-seven?” Guanghong returned a fist bump back to Leo when the latter offered his fist forward.

    “Oh _Youngblood,_ this wasn’t just any old news. Then again, the media has greatly exaggerated the story like usual.” Chris rolled his eyes before returning to his tanning. “In the media’s perspective, it appears that Viktor has other motives than just settling a silly bet with _Youngblood_ Plisetsky.” Adjusting his sunglasses until a reflective glare circled the lens, Chris whispered, _“Viktor’s the Prince in this Cinderella Tale~”_

    _“What?”_ Did Yuuri have to sign it? Yes.

    Phichit jumped onboard the bandwagon. “I saw that article too! Apparently, he’s trying to lure out a sweet lover that left him a bonding bite before disappearing.”

    Guanghong and Leo held a collective gasp, and Phichit pulled up the news article to show everyone. Yuuri twitched. Right in the middle of the news article was a zoomed-in photograph of Viktor’s neck, exposing a delicate pink bite just above where his collarbone and left shoulder met. Yuuri tuned out the conversation in front of him. He focused in on the bite. It had to be a coincidence. Yes, he may’ve landed a same bite on that exact spot roughly a year ago on a drunk Viktor, but it didn’t mean that was _Yuuri’s_ bite. The first line of the article shattered Yuuri like he was fragile glass.

    Viktor held onto that bite mark for almost a year. Last night, the careful interactions Viktor had with Yuuri, the tender hug during the wee hours in the morning, and the affectionate handwritten note earlier this morning. Was Viktor subtly worming his way closer to Yuuri so that he could pop the question? What “popped question” was Yuuri thinking of? A gold ring could’ve slipped out from between Yuuri’s teeth if this was a fantasy. Suddenly, Yuuri became painfully aware that Chris was still staring at him. He didn’t dare meet the saxophonist’s gaze.

    _“What’s a bonding bite?”_

    “Something that couples do to tell the rest of the world that _‘Hey, this person is taken so back off.’_ Something like that, but it has a deeper meeting,” Phichit added as he hid his phone away. “It’s about the same as asking someone to stay close to you forever. Like marriage.”

    Yuuri swore his glasses cracked and not because behind him, a waving Emil, a crossed-armed Michele, and a bubbly Italian girl were making their way across the pool area to join with the rest of the buddy group. Emil, _guitar_ , with his summer beard and general cuddly attitude. Michele, _trumpet,_ with his cold demeanor and sharp tongue if anyone tried to flatter him before a competition. And...who was the girl? A question mark popped above Yuuri’s head. More importantly, where was Michele’s twin brother? Where was Sergio, _the singer?_

    The Italian girl smiled at Yuuri and gave him a cute wave, confusing Yuuri even more. Did he know her? Yuuri tried to think back to all the international competitions and concerts that he played in. Through each memory, he never saw her face. More importantly, he _never_ saw her around Emil, Michele, and Sergio. However, there was something oddly familiar about her scent. The girl smelled like apple blossoms and Yuuri knew only one person who smelled like apple blossoms. Michele’s twin brother, _Sergio._

    _“It’s very nice to meet you again, Yuuri~”_ The girl tilted her head to the side and winked. Yuuri’s jaw dropped before the violist exploded into applause.

    _“Sergio?”_ He signed.

_“My name’s Sara now but yeah. That’s me~”_

Yuuri was stunned. Eight years made a big difference after all. Emil was sporting facial hair, Michele was an even more hardcore-protective omega than he was before, and _Sara_ had grown into a beautiful young woman that still retained some of the quirks that she had before.

    “Just because Sara is Sara, it doesn’t mean you can _hit_ on her because you feel like it,” Michele snarled at the group, pointing fingers especially at Leo and Guanghong because they didn’t know who Sara was before she became even more Sara-like. Sara told Michele to calm down and that not _every_ man was going to try to flirt with her. Michele gave Sara _the look--_ the single look that conveyed all the troubles and worries that any protective brother would have over his dear sister in this messed up world that ran on pseudo-romance.

    “Mickey just doesn’t want Sara to get hurt again,” Emil whispered to the rest, making sure that his face was visible in the sunlight so that Yuuri could read his lips. _“Some people aren’t exactly kind to those who’ve switched.”_ As soon as Emil said that, Yuuri noticed a pale scar that ran down Sara’s cheek and he highly doubted that it was from a doctor. Michele, too, had his own share of scars, but they were hidden under the baby blue shirt that he sported.

    In a younger time, Sara hoped to find love one day, but then the love grew sour quickly and Michele stepped in to protect his sister from whatever trauma _the_ boyfriend tried to inflict. This banter between the two was a tired old argument. Sara wanted to grow strong on her own instead of letting Michele fight all her battles. Michele couldn’t see past the damaged and bleeding young woman that he found when he decided to check up on Sara and her boyfriend on one of their evening dates. Oh, Michele punched the male alpha to Hell. _That_ was certain.

    Stories ran as deeply as blood, and Yuuri saw that when Sara and Michele joined the group and assumed their usual behavior. Six omegas, an alpha Guanghong, and a beta Yuuri. An odd mix, but they were all good friends. Friendship had no discrimination, and that was what kept their links and ties to one another so strong. Yuuri was rusty with his ties, but he was glad to see that everyone was happy and healthy like they were supposed to. Was Yuuri healthy and happy? No. His lower back ached, and his sanity walked across a thin tightrope.

    Viktor wanted to find him and the man possibly loved him. Yuuri was jealous of Viktor’s successes as a musician and was willing to exploit the alpha if needed. _Wait_ , what? It was that _voice_ in Yuuri’s head again. That _alpha voice_ that Yuuri could’ve been if he wasn’t a beta. Keeping the voice at bay, Yuuri tried to piece together what he _did_ know. He accidently gave Viktor a bonding bite. Viktor was under the belief that Yuuri liked him back and that was why Viktor treated with such great care. Was Viktor friendly because he liked Yuuri or was it because Viktor was naturally friendly like that? Yuuri didn’t know much about Viktor’s personal life, other than the fact that his mother and father were separated for over a decade now.

    So what if Viktor found out that Yuuri did the bite by accident? Would he threaten Yuuri for toying with his feelings for almost an entire damn year? Would he grow a cold shoulder? Would he _hurt_ Yuuri? Viktor was a nice man on the media, but that was the media. Who was Viktor Nikiforov truly, and how would he react? Then, there was the mess where Yuuri wanted attention. Not attention for being the man that seduced the greatest piano prodigy in the modern century. No, Yuuri wanted his musicianship to be known far and wide.

    He could play the _card_ and let everyone know that he was deaf. People would flock to him like bees since most of the world didn’t believe that betas existed. But a deaf individual in the GDC? That was headline material, but Yuuri wanted to be known for his skills. Not because he was deaf. He didn’t pursue music because he wanted people to look at him funny when they found out that he was deaf. No, he pursued music because... _because_...Music was fun and he hoped to someday play a duet with Viktor while the entire world looked up at them in awe.

    “Yuuri?” Phichit shook his friend’s shoulder. Yuuri backed away at Phichit’s touch. “Yuuri, are you okay?”

    Yuuri bolted. In the hotel lobby, he ran into a stumbling Takeshi who was flipping through his sheet music. Takeshi saw the anxiety in Yuuri’s eyes. He asked Yuuri if something was wrong. Yuuri couldn’t speak. He couldn’t sign. He tried to escape but Takeshi held onto Yuuri and comforted him in any way he could. Yuuri didn’t want any of it. He even bit Takeshi’s comforting hand, but the omega kept a firm but gentle grip over his friend. He rubbed Yuuri’s back, trying to soothe him like in the younger days. Seeing the bulge in Yuuri’s pocket from his travel-sized toothpaste, Takeshi reached for it, uncapped it, and wafted the peppermint scent to Yuuri so that he could calm down.

    Yuuri fell. Hard. Out of every scent on this planet, peppermint was his addiction and weakness.

Keeping calm, Takeshi swiftly scooped the writhing Yuuri into his arms and tried to soothe the beta. Yuuri wasn’t looking at him. His attention was everywhere. Already, a crowd was forming around them. People watched. Some smart individuals pulled out their phones and called an ambulance, a doctor, _somebody_ to help the struggling man that twisted and turned in Takeshi’s arms. As if Yuuri was possessed by a demon inside.

    And when Viktor and Otabek emerged from the crowd when they saw Takeshi pick up the collapsed Yuuri, something clicked inside the beta. The hormonal imbalance turned off the rational beta that took control. Yuuri’s sanity slipped. Walking across the tightrope _now_ was an uncontained alpha with an attitude. Viktor was the lead alpha on the situation. Yuuri didn’t like that.

    To recap, Viktor wasn’t one to dull a surprise. No one expected the proud alpha to crash onto the floor while a madman sapped his jaws over Viktor’s neck. Viktor held Yuuri back, forcing his forearm in between them and shoving the insane beta away from him. Yuuri kept lunging forward. Claws sinking into Viktor’s arms. Scratching Viktor’s last line of defense. Getting nearer to the alpha’s neck but _not_ near enough. Viktor wrestled Yuuri off of him and scrambled to his feet. Yuuri tackled Viktor back down and pinned the alpha under him.

    Legs immobilized because Yuuri locked and pinned them in between his knees. Arms pinned under Yuuri’s claws. Viktor didn’t stop fighting. He knew what _this_ Yuuri wanted, and Viktor wasn’t going to let him do it. The bite mark over Viktor’s neck was from a sweet, caring Yuuri Katsuki that wanted Viktor to return safely home. He wasn’t going to let _this_ Yuuri taint _this_ bonding bite. Viktor lunged to the side and snapped his jaws down on Yuuri’s arm. The beta yelped but didn’t let go of Viktor. Even when blood was pooling onto the floor. Yuuri couldn’t let go of Viktor’s other arm. The pianist would retaliate and knock him down. The alpha inside Yuuri’s head couldn’t let that happen.

    _Finish him off._

    Muscular arms wrapped around Yuuri’s neck, choking the beta to submission. Suddenly, a metal muzzled was strapped over his snapping jaws. Someone tightened the leather straps and pulled Yuuri away. Viktor let go. A trail of blood followed Yuuri as he writhed, scratched, and stomped at Viktor’s rescuer.

    In Yuuri’s mind, his sanity was wrestling the alpha voice off the tightrope. A bloody battle between two Yuuris. Both fighting for dominance in Yuuri Katsuki’s mind. The alpha in Yuuri was kicked off the tightrope, and it splattered into its grave as sanity took over and overrode Yuuri’s mind. Yuuri Katsuki grew limp as his hormonal imbalance balanced itself. No longer struggling, Yuuri took quick breaths.

He panted. People stared at him. _Judging_ him. His friends were before him, wide-eyed and scared. Yuuri caught a whiff of Viktor’s peppermint scent and turned around.

    Otabek was helping his duet partner. Viktor struggled to get back onto his feet. Painful red claw marks stained his skin. Parts of his sleeves were torn, and Yuuri trembled. He did that. He did that to the man that he admired and to the man that loved him back. Yuuri realized that there was a muzzle over his face. He looked down at the arm around his neck. He recognized that sleeve. He recognized _that bite_ over the person’s hand.

    _Takeshi?_

    “I’m sorry, Yuuri.” Holding back his tears, Takeshi tightened the muzzle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every beta has this condition where they temporarily have a hormonal imbalance. Several factors can be at play to cause this imbalance. Overwhelming stress, too much change in a short period of time, altered sleeping habits, lack of motivational drive, etc… We saw snippets of this back in chapter 2 when Yuuri thought about attacking Viktor. Yes, it was referenced as far as back then. As we continue, we see a slow descent into insanity as Yuuri became more callous about his actions and words.
> 
> And then bam! He snapped. The only way a beta can vent out this hormonal imbalance is that they have to act on it. If they don’t, they won’t gain the relief that they desperately need. Because of this, betas are viewed as helpless and insane ticking time bombs that can explode at any moment because they’re not used to dramatic hormonal shifts like alphas and omegas. Unfortunately, not enough research has been conducted to counteract this mental explosion that occurs in betas.
> 
> Regarded as monsters, they were killed off early in history. Only a few betas remain, shouldering the blame and stigma that society has placed on their shoulders. Not realizing why everyone seems to shun them. Society believes that if a beta chooses a dynamic side, it’ll cure them. Instead, it just makes the condition worse until the beta eliminates themself out of pain.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> Thank you for reading, commenting, kudos-ing, and whatever you kind people enjoy doing. I pretty much adopted my writing style from chapter 1 and 2 of this story for a nostalgic effect. It was nice~ Hopefully I don't scare people with this chapter


	12. Tell Your Heart to Beat Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell your heart to beat again  
> Close your eyes and breathe it in  
> Let the shadows fall away  
> Step into the light of grace  
> Yesterday's a closing door  
> You don't live there anymore  
> Say goodbye to where you've been  
> And tell your heart to beat again"
> 
> \--Danny Gokey [2016]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most intimate writing that I've done in a long time. Most of the intimate writings that I've done are usually overly emotional or just a whirlwind or rollercoaster of events that slam you, again and again. This was different. I was in a very different place when I wrote this. I was calm yet held together with bandages inside. It was quiet, but I wanted to write a scream and have a table flipped.
> 
> No.
> 
> That wasn't the characters. The characters wanted somewhere quiet, isolated from the rest of society. Just a place to chat, one on one. I gave them that. And in that quiet lull, something organic happened and the characters wrote their own lines, their own reactions, and their own thoughts. One thing led to another and now we're here.

_ “Damn muzzles,”  _ Mari mumbled under her breath. Sixteen years old and the young alpha had a temper that matched her bite. School bag slipping off her shoulder. Kicking off her shoes. Shuffling across the wooden floor in fuzzy slippers. Ripping the fridge open and stuffing pickled vegetables, dropping a cold slop of noodles, and drizzling mysterious brown sauce into a katsudon bowl. Snapping a pair of takeout chopsticks, Mari mixed her filthy concoction and jabbed food into her mouth while fishing for a clean glass to house her soda.

She didn’t hear the soft shuffles approaching her from behind. She didn’t feel the warm little arms that wrapped around her stomach. Mari did hear a sneeze and she looked down. A little munchkin looked up at her, rosy cheeks and all. Swallowing her mouthful of food, Mari placed her katsudon bowl down and hoisted little Yuuri up in her arms. The six-year-old waved his arms around and squawked like a bird, but Yuuri sounded like a rubber duck without its squeaker. Mari didn’t mind. She just rubbed her nose against Yuuri’s and smiled when she heard his dry, puffy laugh.

**_“Mari, Mommy is making katsudon for dinner.”_ ** Yuuri’s signing was clumsy at best, but Mari’s signing wasn’t all that better. She spun Yuuri around like he was a baby before placing him down on a kitchen stool. Mari returned to her bowl of food and vented with every bite.

**_“Yuuri, if anybody ever tries to put a muzzle on you--”_ **

**_“What’s a…?”_ ** Yuuri squinted hard at Mari before signing out the unfamiliar word.  **_“M-u-z-z-l-e.”_ **

Mari swallowed an entire pickled carrot without chewing. The spicy vegetable caught in her throat. Slamming the kitchen counter for her soda cup, Mari chugged half of the glass before the spicy carrot unlodged itself. How could she forget? What self-acclaimed six-year-old would know what a muzzle was?  _ A twisted six-year-old,  _ Mari mused. Tipping her head back, Mari tried to fiddle with what she wanted to say.  _ Shit.  _ She didn’t know how to sign it. The best bet was to hope that Yuuri would understand this conversation one day if he ever thought back to it.

_ “A muzzle is a bad thing. It’s something that scared people put on you.”  _ Mari whistled between her teeth, trying to think of a better way to say what she honestly felt.  _ “One day, you might think that the people around you honestly care. Everything is all sugar and rainbows until someone says something and you bite back.”  _ Mari squeezed her chopsticks until they cracked. Yuuri squeaked and pointed at the fractured wood. Mari ignored him. Just this once, she wanted Yuuri to listen.

Of course, did Yuuri listen? Well, he remembered snippets but never paid much attention. That was an old problem of his. Never broke that habit and he wished he did.

Now just a day shy from his twenty-fourth birthday, Yuuri finally understood what his sister tried to tell him. Someone he trusted threw a muzzle around his mouth and tightened the straps against his will. Nothing was sugar and rainbows anymore. Yuuri was all alone, detained in a storage closet for the time being. Were the cops coming for him? Were they going to bust down the wooden door, hoist him up by the skin of his teeth, and drag him out? Would he become an international criminal because his sanity lapsed for just a moment? Yuuri was too young to be a criminal but at the same time, he wasn’t young enough. Loads of people younger than him have been forced into police custody before. Yuuri didn’t know any of them personally  _ but still. _

Sitting on a wooden stool from his youth, Yuuri could almost  _ hear  _ Mari’s lectures going into one ear and drizzling out the other. What did she always tell him?  _ Never trust a friend that could turn you in. _ Yuuri closed his eyes and rested his chin over his knuckles. Why did Takeshi have a muzzle?  _ How  _ did Takeshi get a muzzle? Yuuri doubted that Yuuko gave it to her mate. She hated muzzles with a burning passion, and she was forced to wear one for over a year before she started dating her mate. Why she had to was never properly explained to Yuuri, but he suspected it was a social rule that never left the modern era. And here Yuuri was, trying to stroke his chin but his finger only met the wired mesh over and around his jaw.

Yuuri had tried to untie the muzzle. Takeshi must’ve had placed it on safety or locked it somehow. No matter how hard Yuuri tried to dig his fingers in between the straps, he ended up hurting himself even more than before. Given up, Yuuri’s arms fell to his side and he started licking the edge of his wound instead. Just below his wrist, the lasting remains of Viktor’s bite stood.

A mangled bloody injury that peeled and exposed Yuuri’s flesh and bone for the world to see. Rare flesh, neither stripped from the bone nor pulsing with desperate vengeance for Life. The skin of tattered bones and blood vessels hung out in unimaginable pain, and Yuuri could only lick at the wound in hope that the agony would go away. Was Viktor going through this same punishment too? Was the alpha locked up somewhere? Was Viktor charged for his actions, or was the alpha scot-free because of society’s laws, rules, and regulations? What about Yuuri? What was going to happen to him?

Yuuri tried to remember his government classes. There were hundreds of laws and regulations for omegas, and about just as many for alphas if the professor thought it was a good day to learn about it. But in all that note-taking, Yuuri never once saw a law for him.  _ For a beta.  _ There was nothing, so what did that mean for Yuuri? He wouldn’t just be disqualified from the GDC. He won’t just be a criminal locked behind a set of iron bars. The worse penalty was death, but a worser fate was being erased from the records. To never exist was a poor fate indeed, and that fate was reserved to those who were well-below the law. So... _ Was Yuuri below the law? _

Sucking on his wound, the beta tried to hold back his salty tears.

How would his parents react to this? To never see their son ever again. Forever wondering why he was never coming home before accepting that the worst has happened. What about Mari? She would cry and scream for hours until her voice was gone forever. Forever pacing and sitting on the front porch of Yutopia Springs, waiting for her baby brother to come home before she had to give up and move on. What about Minako and Yuuko? And Takeshi, and Phichit, and Chris, and...everybody.

What about the internet? Yuuri shuddered. He knew people recorded the incident. He knew that forty-seven phones recorded the exact moment where he pounced on Viktor. Twenty more cameras recorded when Viktor leaned in and chomped down on Yuuri’s arm. Ten more phones recorded when Takeshi wrestled a muzzle over and around Yuuri’s jaw. More than a hundred phones recorded a distraught and damaged Yuuri as he was hoisted and detained in a storage closet. Yes, a storage closet. Where was the humanity in that? People saw him as a dog, and Yuuri knew that it was only a matter of time before he was forced to kick the can like one.

Yuuri wanted to see his friends one last time. He wanted to play his viola and kiss it tenderly before it was reduced to matchwood for a blazing fire. Yuuri didn’t look up when the storage room door opened. The beta didn’t flinch when someone adjusted the brightness of the  light bulb swinging above his head. Yuuri felt another’s knee caps touch his own. Someone brought a stool and sat right across from him in this cramped, little storage closet. Yuuri looked up when he caught a whiff of peppermint. Viktor  _ “I-bit-a-chunk-off-your-arm” _ Nikiforov looked back at him with one eye. The alpha pulled back his bangs.

The light bulb hanging above the duo was so low that Viktor had to hunch his neck and back over so that his forehead wouldn’t get smacked. Yuuri simply stared at the man, lost in Viktor’s eyes. Covering his bite wound with his bloody hand. It didn’t fool Viktor. Not one bit. He reached for the bite wound, but Yuuri backed away as far as he could. In such a tight space, Yuuri only managed an inch before Viktor calmly placed his hand over Yuuri’s hand. Viktor studied Yuuri. Yuuri just stared at Viktor’s hand. Words caught in his throat, Viktor rubbed his thumb reassuringly over Yuuri’s hand before lifting it gently. The alpha winced.

It was a miracle that he only tore Yuuri’s skin and the top layer of his flesh. The pulsing veins and arteries stood out prominently against the white of Yuuri’s bones, but nothing major was punctured or wounded in anyway. Yuuri could still play the viola if he wanted to, but was Viktor proud about that? How could he? He injured and traumatized the man that helped his heart beat again. Yuuri no longer backed away or tried to fight against Viktor’s touch. The violist was limp and broken. The fine-tuned heart beating in his chest was scrap metal compared to the real thing in Viktor’s chest.

Reaching into his back pocket, Viktor pulled out a roll of medical tape and carefully ripped a length with his teeth. Careful to show his front teeth instead of his sharp canines. Yuuri wasn’t paying attention. Simply staring at Viktor’s hands as the pianist worked. Viktor rolled the medical tape around the bite wound. The world wouldn’t have to see it anymore.

“No need to worry about an infection. Alpha bites are a lot cleaner than what most people think.” Viktor wasn’t sure why he was speaking. Perhaps, it was better to ramble about nonsense than to not speak at all. “Back during the World Wars, alpha nurses and doctors were taught to lick soldiers’ wounds since the saliva killed most of the harmful bacteria. Helps that we keep a clean mouth.” Viktor exposed his signature grin and nearly whacked his head against the hanging light bulb when he met Yuuri’s eyes. The cinnamon eyes stared intently into Viktor’s own eyes, as if dissecting Viktor’s thoughts was all that a broken person like him could do.

A tremor resonated deeply in Yuuri’s voice box. “Why are you here?”

Viktor paused in mid-wrap. Did he hear that right? Yuuri’s voice...It was so hollow, yet Viktor heard a mechanic beat coursing through it. “Don’t worry about it, Yuuri. You need to take care of yourself first.” But Viktor watched carefully as Yuuri worked out words and spat them out like dodgy bullets.

“Why are you  _ really  _ here?”

Viktor finished off the medical wrap by tying a loose bow over the top. Easy for Yuuri to take off if he wanted to bite the bow and pulli it that way. “When something’s broken, you mend it.” Viktor held onto Yuuri’s good hand and helped wipe off the blood with a clean cloth. Digging out saliva and caked blood from Yuuri’s fingernails, Viktor commented, “Betas don’t really need stitches like alpha or omegas. You guys just shake off the open wound, and it’s fully healed within twenty-four hours.”

Yuuri blinked. Viktor rambled onwards.

“It’s pretty strange, don’t you think? Internal wounds heal the same like everyone else, but open wounds heal at least ten times faster. Perhaps even more if someone cared to study the genetic makeup and cellular processes behind it.” Viktor leaned in close to Yuuri’s left hand and rubbed the dried blood off of the beta’s pale palm. “Too many medical personnels don’t know how betas work, but the world’s been blessed that it’s had a few beta authors. They tell us the story that so many of us fail to acknowledge in our lifetimes.”

Suddenly, Viktor felt Yuuri’s fingers and thumb at his chin. Yuuri gently made Viktor lift his head, and the alpha met the inquisitive eyes that studied his lip movements. Flushed a deep red, Viktor tapped Yuuri’s arm so that he would let go. Yuuri did, and Viktor kept his head up so that the violist could see his face more clearly. What else could Viktor say? It wasn’t like he could spout about medical terminologies and observations forever. There would come a time where such rambles won’t work on Yuuri anymore, but Viktor had one more thing to add before dropping the textbook for good.

After cleaning Yuuri, Viktor backed away from the beta. As far as he could physically go, which was about an inch. Viktor kept his hands to himself.

“Despite everything a textbook can tell you about someone, it’s nothing compared to meeting the living image.” Viktor furrowed his brows, wondering how he was going to word this. Honestly, he never had an intimate chat like this before. He was saying all these things, but was Yuuri really taking his words in. Or, were the words simply flowing into one ear and drizzling out the other? Viktor wasn’t quite sure, but he did know that Yuuri liked looking at him. During the whole conversation, Yuuri never failed to look away from Viktor when he talked. If that wasn’t promise, then Viktor could count himself crazy for approaching Yuuri like this. Alone. Despite everything.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Yuuri mumbled.

“But I want to be here. I’ve wanted to know a lot about you ever since you gave me  _ this.”  _ Viktor tilted his head and pointed to the pink bite over his neck. “I wanted to know who you were, and why someone would want to get close to me when nobody else wanted to.”

Yuuri’s fingers twitched. “Lots of people like you. I don’t think it’s that hard.”

“Fame and a personal life are two completely different things.” Viktor bit back a hollow laugh. “I’ve had to ditch a lot of things to get as far as I have. Life, Love, friends, and even family.” Viktor hung his head low before realizing that Yuuri didn’t like that. He lifted his head quickly and met Yuuri’s gaze once more. “People find it hard to approach me, whether as a fellow musician or as a cherished friend. So when you--”

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri lowered his head. His voice cracked. “I’m not the person that you should be loving.” Tears splattered over Yuuri’s buckling knuckles and tight wrists. Words forever caught in the back of his throat, Yuuri spilled everything. His anguish pricked Viktor’s instincts, and the alpha wanted to hold Yuuri close. But, Viktor knew that Yuuri didn’t want to be touched. Not right now, so Viktor stayed back. Even though he didn’t want to. Viktor waited for Yuuri’s shaky voice to steady. Viktor waited for Yuuri to look back up before speaking.

“If it’s about the bite, I forgive you. I know it wasn’t your fault.” Viktor pointed at his own head with his middle and index finger. “A generous beta told us about what happened to you.”

Yuuri perked up.

Viktor kept a single finger over his lips, a subtle sign that Yuuri needed to listen.  _ For just this once. _ “A kind beta by the name of Ms. Yang spoke on your behalf when you were brought to this closet. She, too, experiences these… _ Sudden relapses _ that throw her sanity into a loop. However, she has a gentle mate that helps her take one step at a time along a never-ending road to recovery.” Twiddling his thumbs now, Viktor kept a steady eye on Yuuri as his hand slowly approached Yuuri’s. Yuuri didn’t shy away. Viktor took Yuuri’s hands and placed them over his heart. The beta flinched when he felt Viktor’s heartbeat, but he didn’t pull away. The steady rhythm kept Yuuri calm, and he mentally wrote out a time signature for it. Would this beat go well with a waltz or perhaps something more contemporary?

Leaving one hand to touch his chest, Viktor took Yuuri’s right hand and placed it over the bite mark on his neck. Like a child, Yuuri poked and prodded Viktor’s scent glands before tracing over the bite. He left his mark on Viktor, and Viktor left his mark on Yuuri. Albeit, Viktor’s mark hurt. A lot. It wasn’t a bonding bite, but a bite in self-defense. Yuuri couldn’t compare it to the bonding bite on Viktor, but this thoughts mirrored Viktor’s thoughts when the alpha first discovered the bite. It wasn’t an exact mirror, but Yuuri understood something.

He didn’t know what it was, but he felter calmer for the first time in a long time.

“You are a beta, but you’re not a textbook example of one.” Viktor brushed back Yuuri’s bangs so that the latter could see better. “You’re Yuuri. Not a previously unknown that’s a classified oddity in the social hierarchy. You have more strength than you know. Figuratively and literally.” Viktor pulled back his sleeves, exposing the tight bandage wraps that bounded his arms. “You are amazing at what you do. Yuuri, you’ve captured the public’s eye long before anyone cared that you were a beta.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel better?” Yuuri shifted his attention. His eyes strayed away from Viktor. Yuuri pulled his hands away so that he could touch the muzzle strapped on him. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re  _ not.” _

“I hurt you.”

“You didn’t mean it.”

“I gave you a bonding bite by accident!”

“Yuuri.” Viktor lowered himself that he could meet Yuuri’s gaze. As equals. “I can’t say that the series of events leading up to this weren’t an accident, but this feeling that I have in  _ here.”  _ Viktor thrusted a hand over his heart. “ _ This feeling  _ is no accident. So please, please don’t apologize for reminding my heart to beat again.”

Silence fell over the duo. Yuuri wished that he could hear. He wished that he could make out the tone and gentle dip of each of Viktor’s words. He wished that his voice was strong so that he could serenade Viktor back. Alas, Yuuri simply sat in silence and digested Viktor’s words. After a little while, Viktor spoke again.

“Do you want to know why I chose to play the piano?”

Yuri nodded. Viktor returned a shy smile and a faint tinge of pink rode high over his cheeks and nose. He wanted to hide, but Yuuri liked seeing his face. For the best of both worlds, Viktor closed his eyes and pictured himself alone in a swirling cloak of darkness.

“When I was little boy, I saw this beautiful piano at an antique shop. I thought to myself,  _ ‘I wonder what its voice sounds like.’  _ The piano didn’t work anymore but I imagined that when it played, you could hear church bells ringing in the background.” Almost on cue, Viktor started humming the  _ Wedding March,  _ swaying his head to and fro with the beat. “I told myself,  _ ‘I want to one day play on a pretty piano. I’m going to play it at my wedding one day.’  _ Pretty embarrassing, don’t you think?” Viktor finally opened his eyes.

For a split second, he saw a wedding before his eyes. Yuuri with a white veil over his head and dusted green blossoms in his hair. A late summer’s sun kissing their skin as a religious man blessed their marriage. Yakov sat in the front row, blowing his hooked nose into a dainty tissue while Lilia held his arm and quietly shedded tears. Mila and Yuri threw flowers and sobbed while Georgi’s eyeliner ran down his face like he was part of the  _ Black Parade  _ from that one band he liked. A multitude of others were there too, but Viktor couldn’t see their faces. He saw Chris in the distance with a brunette lover, and the saxophonist gave him a wink before soaring off into Heaven with angelic wings.

Then the next second, Viktor saw a storage closet. Yuuri sat in front of him, a bit confused on why Viktor was staring at him. He asked if Viktor was okay. The pianist didn’t say anything. In that split-second daydream, Viktor saw a smiling Yuuri. A big grin, lots of teeth, high dimples, and rosy cheeks. There was only one way to recreate that image. Viktor gestured for Yuuri to lean down. Yuuri frantically shook his head.

A husky alpha-ish voice took over Viktor as he whispered,  _ “Don’t you trust me?”  _ A slight tilt of the head.

Yuuri hesitated. In that moment, Viktor leaned in and tugged the muzzle straps until he figured out a way to take it off. He definitely had to dig his fingers for this one, but he was careful not to upset Yuuri or to hurt him in any way. Loosening the leather bindings, Viktor felt the muzzle’s wire mesh fall onto his lap. Yuuri was free. The violist was still hunched over, so Viktor gently raised his head. An odd glint reflected in Yuuri’s eyes, but it didn’t dull the warmth and glow that radiated off the violist’s face now that he was free.

With Yuuri’s hand in his hand, Viktor escorted Yuuri out of the closet. His heart wasn’t beating for one anymore. It was beating for two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just imagine a little Viktor daydreaming about playing a piano during his wedding one day. Actually, that was the image in my head when I first started writing this fic. I pictured a loose but formal Viktor playing a smooth melody on the piano while his Love walked down the aisle. They would meet each other's gaze, and Viktor could feel ten thousand heartbeats added to his poor heart because it was finally whole again.
> 
> Sounds cheesy, but that image carried this story. It gave birth to this idea. I love that.
> 
> On another note, I hope y'all enjoyed the intimacy between Yuuri and Viktor in this chapter. I know I did.
> 
> Even though this is an omegaverse and you would expect some "sexy sexy time" from some of the characters at this point in the story, it doesn't feel right to put it in. Not right now. Everything is just falling into place at its own pace. Why rush that beauty when you can enjoy the sunshine kissing your arms and cheeks after a stormy night? A rose has its own passion, but I like looking at the morning dew collected over the petals.
> 
> That's its own beauty, don't you think?


	13. Goblin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Like destiny, we are falling  
> You’re reaching for me, you’re calling  
> I can’t stand the distance  
> Come and hold me
> 
> Are you the one? can you show me?  
> Are you the love I’ve been wanting?  
> Everything should be fine why am I crying?
> 
> (Stay with me)  
> I’m trying to find you  
> But you’re hiding far from me  
> (Stay with me)  
> The truth is I know you’re still with me"
> 
> STAY WITH ME - CHANYEOL & PUNCH [GOBLIN (도깨비) OST]  
> [English lyrics provided by Impaofsweden]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to write this chapter with a different p.o.v. We've seen through the eyes of Otabek, Mila, Yurio, Yuuri and Viktor. Keeping up with the story and wanting to explore more of the controversy that's evident in this universe, I've decided to write chis chapter through Nishigori Takeshi's eyes.
> 
> Allow him to explain himself, explain his behavior when he forcefully muzzled Yuuri, and allow him to speak his side of the story. And how he tries to justify his actions and comes to grips that he did something truly unforgettable to a very dear friend.
> 
> Instead of me diving into the whole explanation, I think it's better to read this strange, filler-ish chapter.
> 
> *There are no villains in this story, but there is a goblin. Not a mythical being that cries gold, but an idea or reoccurring thought that serves as the antagonist for each and every character in this story. See if you can find out what the /goblin/ is~*

Muzzle. The word felt foreign over Takeshi’s tongue. Not because he rarely used the word-- _well, that factored in as well--_ but he never really had to think about the word. To him, muzzle was simply a word. Technically an object, but it fell as a mundane word over the omega’s ears. His parents rarely mentioned it but when they did, his omega father spoke casually about it while his alpha mother retreated to another room in the house. She only returned when the subject was dropped and didn’t explain why she left. Evidently, Takeshi suspected that his father knew the reason why, but his parents were never clear _._

Takeshi didn’t know what a muzzle was until he started dating Yuuko in high school.

One day, Yuuko was high on Love and full of dear affections. She used to nuzzle close to Takeshi and teasingly scent her boyfriend’s cheeks and hands before the omega burned bright like a cherry tomato. The next day, Takeshi didn’t see Yuuko. The alpha rarely got sick back then, but Yuuko was human. Takeshi took notes for her that day and stopped by Yuuko’s household to drop off the assignments that she missed. Upon stepping over the house’s threshold, Takeshi’s nose curled. He choked on his own saliva. _Distress. Annoyance. Embarrassment._ Yuuko’s scent came from the living room.

It was no use to tiptoe. If Takeshi could clear smell Yuuko, Yuuko could clearly smell him. Omega scents stood out considerably in a pure alpha household but luckily, it was just Yuuko in the house. Her mother and father were out in the garden, picking spring onions for a hearty soup. Takeshi didn’t chat much with them, but the look in their eyes told him to stay for dinner. _For Yuuko’s sake._ Takeshi now understood why.

Just the day before, Yuuko was full of Life and Love. Here she was now. Knees tucked against her chest while her wilted hair curled and spilled over her shoulders. A strange contraption strapped over and around her head. Leather bindings tight against the back of her skull, rendering a messy ponytail completely useless. A wired mesh of a cage covered her jaw. Was she crying? A box of tissues nuzzled against her feet. Takeshi approached Yuuko slowly and bopped her cheek when he got close enough. Yuuko glanced up at him and broke into a smile when Takeshi pushed worksheets and homework assignments into her curled and reluctant hands.

 _“What are you doing here?”_ Such a light, airy voice weighed down considerably.

 _“Are you sick? What is--”_ Takeshi pointed at the strange contraption. _“This?”_

For a moment, Yuuko looked eager. Her lips curved in excitement but then, Yuuko stopped herself and shied away from her boyfriend. Takeshi got closer, but Yuuko sharply told him to stay back.

_“Yuuko?”_

_“It’s a muzzle.”_ The words spat out like poison.

Muzzles weren’t meant as a social stigma. It was a ritual that every unmated alpha had to endure before they bonded with an omega mate. For one full year, the muzzle was forced over and around its unmated owner, teaching the alpha to control his or her urges and desires. With a muzzle, one could hardly bite anyone. No unwanted bondings made; no hearts broken after a fall out. If a relationship fell apart before the one-year mark, the unmated alpha didn’t have to wear the muzzle anymore. If the alpha wanted to pursue a relation with another omega, the muzzle was back on and the year-long clock restarted and ran again. With such strict rules, cheating was rare with unmated alphas. They stayed loyal to the bitter end while their omega lover was free to pursue anyone, if they desired.

If an omega was faithful, the year-long muzzle sentence wasn’t so bad. If the omega was a peculiar cheater, they would have a harem of unmated alphas confined and controlled under their little finger. The unmated alphas couldn’t fight back. Who would believe that an omega was cheating on their partner while the media loved to portray omegas as the helpless innocents that fell under an unmated alpha’s spell.

If both partners were alphas, they didn’t have to wear a muzzle around one another. Free from the stigma, they could be themselves. Free from the muzzles, they had nothing to worry about. For you see, the muzzle only applied to unmated alphas who wished to pursue an omega. _That much should be clear by now._ A male alpha and a female omega was the ideal pairing, the ideal family.

Of course, pure alpha or pure omega relations weren’t ostracized because of the geographical distribution of both dynamics. However, there was something prideful about achieving an ideal that was hardwired into one’s instincts. A union between a female alpha and a male omega was the general norm along with every other pairing but for a pure idealist, it was a mere facade. Female alphas were more likely to miscarry. Male omegas were less likely to impregnate their mates. But, they were still a family. Not entirely ideal, but still a worthwhile family. A pairing with oddities who was also subjected to the stigma of a muzzle because of some purist from centuries ago.

Was it worth the shame that unmated alphas dealt with while under a muzzle? A muzzle was equivalent to a large arrow hovering over an individual, alerting the world that said individual had no control over their own body. Was this outdated ideal worth it when an omega feared for their alpha partner because of the tension and stress that wilted the alpha away? Was it worth it to restrain a whole group of people because of the coarse actions of a few? Was it “just” or “right” to do this to one group while another group could get away with anything and everything, scot-free? Double-standards at its best.

And why? Because of the muzzle, because of the infernal device that drew yet another boundary to a world that was swimming in boundaries. So what brought this to mind?

Just before the flight to Australia, Takeshi vaguely remembered digging through his sock drawer for more things to pack into his suitcase. His heat was coming up. How could he tell? For one, Takeshi’s sniffer was more sensitive to Yuuko’s scent. He used to only notice her scent when she was in the same room as him but now, Takeshi could smell Yuuko very clearly and she was downstairs cooking some sort of cheese dish for Axel, Lutz, and Loop. For two, it was painfully hot in the house. No matter how much Takeshi wanted to adjust the thermostate, he had to remember that he was living with four other people. Three little people who didn’t like sharing wooly blankets. A fiery mate that was brittle to the bone when it got too cold. For three, Takeshi had been an omega for over a decade. By now, he knew his heat signs better than anyone.

He wasn’t just digging through drawers for extra clothes to wear. More like, extra clothes to build a nest with. Bring a part of home that he can hug and nuzzle against while snoozing peacefully under a faded patch of sun. That was the dream. However, Takeshi wasn’t really looking through the drawers. Stuck a hand into a sea of clothes and packed the first thing he touched. His fingers brushed against something leathery near the back. A question mark floated over the omega’s head. He tugged the object up.

Leather bindings came up first, followed by a metal cage that was specifically shaped for a female alpha’s jaw. More appropriate for a teenager than an adult, but Takeshi stared at it, unease gnawing into his flesh. What was _this_ doing in the sock drawer?

_“Takeshi?”_

Takeshi turned around so quickly that he pulled a muscle at his ankle. Desperately trying not to hop on one foot, Takeshi reared back a smile when Yuuko poked her head into the bedroom. Reddish-brown bangs flowing past her shoulders with a fluff of it hiding her right eye. She pulled back her bangs with a lace of her fingers. Takeshi had to remind himself that he couldn’t do _anything_ while dinner was baking in the oven. _Damn these hormones._

While the pair chatted about the upcoming trip to Australia, Takeshi was careful to keep his hands behind his back. Concealing the muzzle and praying to God that Yuuko would leave. Very soon.

 _“Heat coming up?”_ Yuuko innocently tilted her head, with a smirk.

Words lodged in the back of Takeshi’s throat. _“Just packing extra things for my nest.”_ He wanted to loosen his collar, but then he risked exposing the muzzle. But, Takeshi couldn’t hold back much longer. Boiling hormones and fiery tension wasn’t his cup of tea. Takeshi’s heat was fast approaching, but still quiet. He couldn’t let his biology slip up now, but Yuuko was approaching him with a sway in her hips. She leaned in and peppered kisses over Takeshi’s soft lips. Wiggling a finger along Takeshi’s shirt collar to loosen the pent-up steam that fried the omega’s mind.

For a moment, Takeshi let himself go and he escaped from Yuuko’s kisses just so that he could rest his chin over his mate’s strong shoulder and breathe in the spicy cinnamon that wafted so nicely from her neck. His body relaxed and Takeshi could’ve stayed on that shoulder forever if he hadn’t noticed Yuuko’s prying fingers. In a slip, she relinquished the old muzzle from Takeshi and held it into the light.

 _“Really? You think you can hide something from me?”_ Yuuko wagged a disapproving finger. Takeshi was a white sheet, a blubbering mess. Yuuko rested a finger against her lips, hoping that the triplets wouldn’t be able to smell their father’s distress. Crushing the leather straps in her hand, Yuuko clicked her tongue and mumbled to herself, _“I thought I threw this away.”_

 _“Why didn’t you?”_ Takeshi blurted out.

 _“It’s hard to get rid of burdens.”_ Yuuko wasn’t looking at her mate. Staring down at the muzzle, Yuuko pinched the bridge of her nose before walking out of the bedroom. To return to the kitchen? No quite. Axel, Lutz, and Loop were watching anime on the television. At their age, they would be quite curious as to why Yuuko was carrying a muzzle, and Takeshi knew damn well that his mate wasn’t going through _that_ talk. Nostalgia hit Takeshi like an old flame, and he remembered how his own mother was reluctant to talk about muzzles.

It was an alpha burden that Takeshi didn’t understand. Well, he had a general idea of why a lot of people didn’t like muzzles, but the omega lacked the overall sympathy to relate to former muzzle-wearers. He knew that it brought up bad tensions and memories for Yuuko and his mother, but how could such a simple contraption cause so much pain? Then again, it was an alpha problem, and Takeshi didn’t need to understand. All he had to do was provide space and comfort, and Takeshi was too scared to follow his mate. To see where Yuuko finally threw away the muzzle, once in for all.

One way or another, the muzzle returned to Takeshi when he threw out the trash after dinner. Noticing a funny plastic bag in the trash, Takeshi grabbed it and looked side. Gleaming under the full moon was the wire mesh of the muzzle, and Takeshi dropped the bag as if it was cursed. Yet, Takeshi was already cursed and he was doomed to not let the muzzle out of his sight. He snuck it back into the house, concealed under his shirt. He bumped into Axel on the way upstairs, and the little girl stared at the bulging mass that protruded from her father’s stomach.

 _“Daddy, the dinner is making your stomach look weird.”_ She pointed at where the muzzle was, and Takeshi took care to _not_ let Axel touch it.

_“Daddy is having his heat soon.”_

_“So Daddy’s stomach looks weird if he’s having his heat soon?”_

_“Yes.”_ The lie slipped out easier than Takeshi thought. Axel didn’t seem too interested in learning more about her father’s heat, or she was too disturbed by the bulging _mass_ that extended her father’s stomach. Wishing her father the best, Axel hurried the stairs to reunite with her sisters. Takeshi breathed a heavy sigh, entered his and Yuuko’s bedroom, closed the door, and deposited Yuuko’s old muzzle under a pile of clothes in his suitcase. He had to take this cursed muzzle somewhere far, far away. Throw it out in a trashcan. Leave it be. That was the plan.

But when Takeshi saw a wild Yuuri lunge at Viktor, to try to bite the alpha’s neck. The omega lost all rational thought. Yuuko’s muzzle was in his pocket. Takeshi was going to throw it away in the hotel’s dumpster. Before he realized what he was doing, Takeshi held his best friend in a choke hold with his arm. Takeshi’s hands tightened Yuuko’s muzzle over Yuuri, and he only snapped back to reality when he heard Yuuri’s yelps.

He hurt his friend.

He forcefully punished Yuuri for something that the beta couldn’t control.

He did something that no omega-- _that no friend--_ should have to do.

If it weren’t for the strong bond between him and Yuuri, Takeshi was sure that Yuuri would’ve view him as an enemy. Now, the omega wasn’t sure. He broke Yuuri’s trust and with what? With the same damn muzzle that destroyed Yuuko from the inside-out.

Yuuri was detained somewhere. Takeshi didn’t know where. He wasn’t in charge because, because he didn’t want to shatter the relationship he had with Yuuri. _Damn it!_ His heart burned and Takeshi choked on his own scent. Hormones were unsteady. Takeshi tried to breathe, but it was difficult. Every time he took in a deep breath, he inhaled his own scent and wondered. Wondered how Yuuri felt when a familiar scent was cloaked over him. Not in a loving and affectionate way, but with a cruel and unforgiving gesture. Takeshi hated it. He wished he had some sort of soap with him. Anything to wash away his scent for just a moment so that he could clear his head.

Takeshi was sitting on a couch in the main lobby. All of Yuuri’s international friends sat together, talking under their breath and ignoring Takeshi. Maybe he didn’t exist in their eyes. That was a good thing, right? Takeshi gulped. No one asked him where he got the muzzle. No one vented or barked at him. Then again, almost all of Yuuri’s friends were omegas. They probably knew next to nothing about muzzles, just like Takeshi. They probably viewed Takeshi’s action as right and just, but nothing felt “right” or “just”. A swirling concoction of emotions swelled in Takeshi’s chest and burned behind his eyes. A close friend of Yuuri’s, a Thai violist by the name of _Phichit Chulanont,_ sat next to Takeshi for a little while and scented the older omega so that his hormones could be at ease.

Takeshi couldn’t say anything, and Phichit understood. It was understandable to be in shock when your best friend for over twenty years suddenly broke into insanity

“What’s going to happen to Yuuri?” Guanghong was understandably upset about the whole fiasco. Not only was he an unmated alpha that understood the betrayal flashed across Yuuri’s face, Guanghong could do more than just imagine what was currently running through Yuuri’s head. He didn’t want to be the oddball, but someone had to say what no one else wanted to say. “Is he going to be disqualified?”

“No need to worry,” chirped Phichit. Even his tone was strained. “No one uploaded anything about the incident. Pretty much _everyone_ agreed that what happened earlier will stay in the past and not be mentioned again.”

“Like Hell that’s happening,” Michele muttered. He cracked his knuckles with each word. “No one can keep a damn secret. Someone’s going to leak the footage, and disqualification won’t be the only thing that Yuuri’s charged with.”

 _“Mickey!”_ Sara elbowed her twin, but Michele was adamant about his statement. Not only that, he was right. There was no way of knowing or checking if everyone at the scene kept the promise. Sure, Isabella Yang and her mate helped explain the occasional hormonal breakdowns that occurred with betas. Sure, Isabella fought tooth and nail with her words so that law enforcement wouldn’t be called onto the scene. Sure, everyone learned something new about betas and that their existence was real, but that didn’t mean a promise had a sure-way of being kept.

Luckily, Viktor wasn’t injured too horribly. He could still play the piano, but he would probably carry Yuuri’s scars for the rest of his life. There was a brief moment of silence before Phichit stomped his foot on the floor. He looked at his friends with a disgust that was so foreign on the omega’s face.

 _“Look at you people.”_ He crossed his arms and started pacing. “Have you all lost your faith? Yuuri had a panic attack. Like anybody, he had to do _something_ to vent out whatever’s been bottled in him for who-knows-how-long. What _kind_ of society would we be if a video of a panic attack was shared with millions? How _the fuck_ would that make anybody feel better? Yuuri ain’t gonna feel better about it, and he’s spent too much time honing his skills to make it this far. To Hell to those who are willing to cut his journey short!”

Everyone stared at Phichit with fear. To see the normally chirpy and happy-go-happy omega like this was... _Even Michele expected himself to say all of that, not Phichit._ Collapsed onto a couch, Phichit fell off his pedestal and suddenly shrank into a very small personality of who he used to be.

“Yuuri has to be okay. He never asked to be a beta.” Rocking in place, Phichit leaned onto Guanghong and Leo for support and both omegas kept Phichit whole when the violist felt like crumbling into a thousand glass shards.

 _“Nishigori Takeshi?”_ Takeshi broke from his trance. The saxophonist from Switzerland-- _wasn’t his name Chris Giacometti or something?--_ sat beside Takeshi and gently scented the younger omega to keep the hormonal balance in check. Takeshi quietly thanked Chris, and the saxophonist leaned back on the couch. Where was Chris looking, Takeshi didn’t check. He heard the man’s voice, but it was so quiet that Takeshi swore that he was the only one that heard it.

_“Where did you get the muzzle?”_

Takeshi grew stiff. Out of everyone, the oldest in the group held onto the suspicion. Chris didn’t bother to hide it. He kept his voice quiet for Takeshi’s sake. So that the younger omega could catch his breath and digest what he just heard. Chris was patient. No accusing glances marked Takeshi, and the older male even massaged Takeshi’s shoulders so that the younger man could relax for once. Even so, Takeshi didn’t know how to respond, and that marked a significant divide between the younger and older generation. The younger folks focused on emotions and unruly standards while the older and wiser went straight to the chase.

How would Takeshi respond? He couldn’t say that the muzzle was from his mate, nor could he lie and say that he purchased the muzzle for no particular reason. This was a situation where the truth hurt as much as the lie, so Takeshi kept his mouth shut.

After a little while, Chris realized that Takeshi was a mate and a father. That Takeshi had three adorable kids waiting at home and a strong mate that was holding up the fort. That Takeshi was scared and knew that he did something horrible, but he had no one to talk about to relinquish this insurmountable guilt that clogged his lungs. Takeshi didn’t say any of this out loud, but Chris could hear it all ticking away in Takeshi’s heart. Takeshi was supposed to throw away his mate’s old muzzle, but instincts took over and he threw the muzzle over Yuuri because it was the one thing all omegas were taught at some point in their lives.

_If someone was hurting somebody, you restrain them._

_“Yuuri can forgive,”_ Chris whispered.

Takeshi buried his face into his hands. _“I can’t even forgive myself.”_

Chris rubbed Takeshi’s hand. “What if I told you that Yuuri doesn’t hold ill-will towards you, and that he wants you to know that he’s okay?”

Takeshi lifted his head, eyebrows raised. Suddenly, Phichit started screaming. Not a _“Help-I’m-being-attacked”_ scream, but an _“Oh-my-God-Yuuri!”_ scream. Everyone turned and saw a running Viktor and a running Yuuri emerging from a hotel hallway. Phichit sprinted off the couch and tackled Yuuri into a hug. Wind knocked from his chest, Yuuri fell onto his lower back and bruised it again.

On the next scene, Yuuri was lying over lobby couch with an ice pack that was as big as a cantaloupe. Phichit was apologizing like there was no tomorrow, and Yuuri weakly raised his hand to stop Phichit. Signing that everything was going to be okay. The Thai violist exploded into tears and scented Yuuri so hard that Michele and Emil had to pry Phichit off of the beta. Of course, there was a general buzz and Yuuri’s friends asked if things were going to be okay now. Yuuri answered back that he didn’t know, but that he was going to be okay.

All throughout the signing, Chris stood by Viktor and nudged the alpha with his elbow. Viktor stared at the signing. Yuuri’s gestures were so quick and fluid that Viktor’s eyes could barely keep up. Phichit was signing like a storm. Guanghong and Leo made sure that Yuuri was looking at them before they spoke, and they were kind to repeat things when Yuuri didn’t catch the message the first time. Takeshi awkwardly signed Yuuri something in JSL and the beta stared at his friend with an odd spark in his eyes before lowering his guard and pulling Takeshi into a tight hug. Takeshi promptly cried, and Chris left Viktor’s side so that he could he comfort the sobbing young father.

All the while, connections started clicking in Viktor’s head. Yuuri didn’t hear Viktor call out to him while the Russian Yuri heard it clearly from an even farther distance at the airport. Yuuri mostly communicating through yelps, growls, barks, and the occasional snarl. Yuuri being silent most of the time-- _Viktor debated whether this was evidence or not._ Yuuri having an odd slur and accent when he spoke, and Viktor was starting to believe that it wasn’t because the beta had trouble with English. Yuuri’s fluid gestures in sign language. How Yuuri liked looking at people’s faces when they spoke to him.

“Yuuri’s deaf?”

Michele reared his head back with a raised eyebrow. “Considering that you were in the closet with him for a while, I thought you would've picked up on it by now.”

Viktor scratched the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed that he didn’t seen the connection sooner. “Well, he spoke to me the entire time.”

Now it was everyone’s turn to look at Yuuri with a raised eyebrow. The beta stared at his friends, wondering why they were looking at him oddly. Meeting Viktor’s gaze, Yuuri finally understood. Licking his lips, Yuuri opened and closed his mouth a few times. No words came out. Instead, he decided to sign.

 _“I do know how to talk. Somewhat. I’m not very good at it yet.”_ Yuuri’s shoulders sagged slightly, and Takeshi contemplated whether or not to laugh, cry, or do both.

Sara was the first to speak. “If none of us knew about it, did you start learning recently?”

Yuuri shook his head. In honesty, he had been learning ever since he was confirmed as a beta, but no one needed to know that. Besides, he didn’t want to start speaking to his friends yet. Yuuri was used to doing it with strangers but with close company? Let’s just say that Yuuri wanted to practice some more before combining speech into his daily habits. When he looked over at Viktor, there was a fire in Viktor’s eyes that scared Yuuri. _That_ was the look of a determined man who was willing to learn everything and anything for his mate. Wait. Yuuri mentally shook his head. He wasn’t Viktor’s mate, and Viktor wasn’t _his_ mate. Not yet, anyway. No, Yuuri really didn’t need to think about this now.

Just because he had an intimate heart-to-heart chat with Viktor, it didn’t mean that they were each other’s mate. They both merely...opened up because the other was so close. And maybe Yuuri felt the same way about Viktor, like how Viktor felt about Yuuri. Maybe it wasn’t a surprise that nobody questioned their interaction and encounter in the closet, despite everything that had happened. It was as if some fairytale spell told everyone about the magnificent ball that was coming up, and everyone already knew that Yuuri was the long, lost playboy in this tango of a story.

Takeshi did have his doubts. As a father to three girls and as a young father at that, he had a _simple chat_ with Viktor. Back in the closet where Yuuri was kept in so that he wouldn’t have to feel judgemental stares. Viktor led the way, of course.

Yuuko’s muzzle was left behind there. Takeshi pocketed it before interrogating the heck out of Viktor. From financial stability to whether or not Viktor had an STD, Takeshi concluded that Viktor did genuinely care for Yuuri. However, Takeshi still had his fatherly instincts.

“Why are you trying to pursue a romantic relationship with Yuuri? Don’t say it’s because of the bite.”

“How did you know?”

Takeshi curved his lips into a sincere grin. “With how much of a miracle Yuuri is, I’ve pretty much accepted all the shenanigans that go along with him. Kind of. But quit stalling, and answer my question. Yuuri and I are your competitors in the GDC. Not only that, that hotshot Plisetsky kid has you marked out as a rival. How are you going to keep your head in the game if you’re in Love?”

Suddenly, in that small closet, the space grew brighter. At first, Takeshi thought that the light bulb swinging over their heads had a death wish, but all the perceived brightness came from the signature smirk that rode high over Viktor’s lips. Takeshi had no idea what the alpha was thinking, but the words that slipped out from his lips were enough of an answer.

“I won’t be going easy, if that’s what you’re thinking. _That’s not how I show my Love.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to y'all, GDC is next chapter. Refresher, Part One of this Theme of Love is to play a classical piece not only fits the theme but also showcases your musicianship. You know what that means? Tons of audios next chapter. The whole shabang and at this point, I think Yurio is the only that really cares about the "bet" between him and Viktor. Viktor, Georgi, and Mila are pretty indifferent about it and Yurio is the only one taking it seriously because he doesn't want Viktor to retire.
> 
> That's right. The comedic duo + Yurio are coming back!
> 
> Thank you for sharing, reading, kudosing, commenting, and whatnot.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> A little vent thing for me: Sometimes I wonder if all this work is worth it. All this time that I've been putting into this story, I wonder if people enjoy it or if I've been wasting a fraction of my Life on it. Comparing to other fanfic successes, this fic doesn't really amount to anything. It's a /very/ long story, but what's to show for it? I guess I'm putting myself down because I'm comparing my shortcomings to other people's successes. I fear that people don't like this story or are not interested in the concept or get bored with it.
> 
> And then, they move on to find something more satisfying and filling for their eyes. Well, those are my thoughts. That's all I've got.
> 
> On another note, I was wondering if y'all are interested in something. I had this crazy idea where I shared the Google Doc of this story and y'all popped in to add suggestions or helped with editing and writing. I don't know, it was something really fun that I thought of. And if y'all just want to read, you can watch me type out the story in real time or something. That's a crazy thought. Goodnight, folks~
> 
> /I recommend reading the comments at the end of each chapter and seeing my replies, because not only do you get "hints" of what the next chapter will be about, I do even more world building and connections that I couldn't fit into the chapter/


	14. "That's How I Show My Love"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing was certain until the last note was heard.
> 
> /real chapter update :3/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, everybody!
> 
> The past 2 to 3 days of the Google Share was...interesting. Honestly, not a lot people were up to it. From my end at least. It was pretty lonely as I finished up the chapter update by myself, but some of y’all stopped by and added your comments to certain things and that was really cute! Will I be doing another Google Share Event like this? Probably not. It depends. If there’s a chapter that I’m nervous about, then sure I’ll do a Google Event for it. Did I learn anything, not so sure.
> 
> For y’all who went on to just read the chapter update with a head start, I advise you to re-read the performance areas because I added hidden audio links that I didn’t show during the Google Share~! If for some reason you cannot access or hear those audios, let me know so that I can fix the links~ I feel with those audios in place, it transforms the feeling that you have inside when you read the scenes.  
> I hope y’all enjoy this chapter and all the new snippets that you learn about the characters. I know I’ve enjoyed this chapter a lot! 
> 
> But, I will end this note with a bit of a downer. This’ll be the last update you’ll see from me. Not indefinitely. I hope not! With AP testing and finals coming up for me, the entire month of May will be too busy for me to do anything fanfic related, except type a paragraph or two late in the night. I humbly apologize for that. However, when my summer vacation begins, you know what I’ll be doing!
> 
> This chapter is basically...What if Joey made this fanfic into a bonafide KDrama with music cut-scenes for added emotional-effect? Enough rambling from me, let’s enjoy this chapter together. Shall we?

[Pictures from Google Event](https://mvjoey.tumblr.com/post/160105138115/some-screenshots-of-the-comments-from-a-google)

* * *

 

Friday afternoon. [ The time had come for Part One. ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B4TpCgU2BwQnRUh1czZZcEEzNFU/view?usp=sharing) A sudden silence fell over Sydney, Australia as a crowd of black and white emerged from the southern horizon. Armed with sheet music, instruments, and spare bowties. Long hair fashioned into traditional ponytails or twirled into braids. Dress shoes glistening under the sun. Heels, flats, and the occasional sandal marking footsteps into history. Along the concrete pages of this music textbook. For a group of people that carried black and white dots running through their blood, no one spoke.

In the past four to five days, last minute practices and well wishes from home were the only resources that fueled this hungry group. Gold, recognition, and a standing ovation were on the line. It didn’t matter that birthdays came and went, or that romance and friendship were one with the tides. In the _Global Division Concerts,_ one performance could easily separate you from the ordinary. One shot, one chance to turn an entire career around.

But you have to keep in mind, these _were_ just ordinary people. It was blistering hot, and young Yuri was glad that he wasn’t decked down in a full suit and tie. Even with a white shirt with suspenders, the heat wasn’t reflecting off of Yuri. His science teachers were liars, and the sweating youth wore his bass over his head to block off the sun. Soldering next to him was a full-suit Georgi with thick makeup sliding down his face.

From tears? No, from sweat. Somehow or another, Georgi’s thick eyeshadow managed to stay where it was, and Yuri didn’t raise an eyebrow when Georgi dabbed his forehead with the corners of his sheet music. While the duo suffered, a happy-go-happy Mila pranced like a ballerina, complete with toe-spins as the “flow” of her floral dress rocked with the breeze.

“C’mon, you two~ Turn that frown upside down!” Mila poked her fingers against Yuri’s dimples and pushed them up. Yuri bared his teeth at the alpha and eye-screamed at Georgi for help. Unfortunately, the omega had his own issues to deal with. Not only was he in a full-suit and dragging his feet forward, Georgi was under an unbearable heat. He took pills this morning, and it managed to subdue some of his heat symptoms. However, Georgi wasn’t the only omega under heat. Countless others gritted their teeth under the sweltering sun and gripped heat pills and suppressants for support. If one omega went into heat, Mother Nature automatically assumed that every omega in the vicinity should share that moment. _Together._

Up ahead in the crowd, Michele muttered swears under his breath as he shared swigs of water with Emil. Sara had her own water bottle because she was a singer, and she wasn’t bothered by the heat as much since she wore a flowing yellow dress. She helped fan her brother and Emil while Emil loosened his bowtie. Pouring some water over his head, Michele puffed out a raspy screech in protest and batted Emil’s arm so that he would stop. He stared at the drops that dripped from Emil’s hair and started crying.

“Mickey, it’s alright. Just a few more minutes and you can drink all the water you want.” Sara shook her water bottle cheerfully and offered to share it. Michele refused, but he still cried on Emil’s shoulder. Emil rubbed circles along Michele’s back for the rest of the walk, and Sara shielded her twin’s head from the sun with her sheet music.

Slugging behind the trio were Guanghong and a very chirpy Leo. Being used to extreme-ish temperatures, the two were unfazed as they approached closer and closer to the middle of the Australian skillet. Other than sharing sunscreen and adjusting their dark sunglasses, the violinist and singer were one of the few musicians that had a cheery chat.

The Sydney Opera House waved at them in the distance. The looming fixtures reminded Guanghong of dolphin fins that protruded out of the water before the mammal leapt over waves with its brothers and sisters. To Leo, the building kind of looked like the church that he went to every Sunday with his family. Just another day singing with the choir. Leo kept those memories in his heart. Meeting Guanghong’s gaze, both partners exchanged silent encouragement and sealed it with a pinkie promise at the end.

Phichit and Chris somehow found each other while following the crowd of musicians blindly. When Chris found the violist, Phichit was _this_ close to passing out. His scent wasn’t particularly strong because of medication, but Phichit was out. Eyes dazed and slightly crossed, mouth parted a bit in stupor, and rocking footsteps that threatened to spill the violist over. Slinging his saxophone case over onto his right shoulder, Chris plucked Phichit’s viola case and slipped the backpack strap over his left shoulder. Phichit had no idea what was going on until he realized that his shuffling feet weren’t touching the ground anymore. Chris hoisted Phichit into his arms and hunched his head over to block the sun.

“Save your strength. We’ll be out of the sun soon.”

Phichit stared at Chris as if he was an angel before turning his head and passing out, nuzzled against Chris’ chest. The older omega sighed. The GDC had to give everyone an hour and a half to recover, tune, and warm up. At the very least. Chris was slowing down, and Phichit was heavy. It was hard to breathe, but Chris had to keep walking. For a moment, he wished he had an angel’s wings. He couldn’t, though. Only one set of footsteps trailed after him and Phichit, and it was because Chris was holding the violist up when Phichit couldn’t walk anymore.

Leading the group of musicians were Viktor and Otabek, and Viktor was very much a spring chicken while Otabek looked like a fish out of water. The younger male was sweating so much that Viktor sacrificed his water bottle so that Otabek wouldn’t get dehydrated. His heat wasn’t as bad as other omegas because he was prepared, but his body definitely felt like squishy jello than stale tofu. Viktor offered his arm to Otabek, and the omega latched onto it. Mumbling apologies when his sweat bled through the front of his shirt and got onto Viktor.

“Don’t apologize, Otabek. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Viktor reassuringly squeezed the younger male’s shoulder. “Save your strength. Can you promise me that?”

Otabek nodded and soldiered forward.

When the international party stepped into the Sydney Opera House and felt the running air-conditioning system, a collective sigh and celebration broke out. Volunteers in the building passed out water bottles and medics stationed themselves in the main area to treat the battered and wounded. Takeshi collapsed somewhere and Yuuri tipped water into the omega’s mouth before Takeshi was able to sit-up on his own. For the quality of health and safety, the GDC judges agreed to let everyone have two hours to prepare before the competition started. Two hours to recharge, warm-up, and practice through the first piece a few more times.

But lo and behold, when young Yuri spotted a concerned Viktor leaning over Otabek to make sure that he was drinking enough water, Yuri marched over sluggishly and loudly declared that he hoped that Viktor hadn’t forgotten the little bet between them. You could hear Georgi and MIla facepalm themselves in the distance. Viktor stared at Yuri as if the blonde had just uttered, _“The bigger your winged eye-liner is, the more bitch level status you have in the competition.”_ Otabek quietly chugged a water bottle all by himself, sucking it like it was a pacifier.

 _“Yuri.”_ Viktor straightened his back and towered over the bass-player. He rested a firm hand over the youth’s shoulder. _“Go get some water.”_

Yuri squinted at Viktor as if he was the goddamn sun. “What makes you think I’ll believe you?” he slurred.

Viktor mentally facepalmed himself. Maybe it was too soon to believe that Yuri was growing into a responsible young adult. Sticking a water bottle into the youth’s mouth as if he was a baby that needed a bottle, Viktor rocked the teen back and forth with a slow ballroom shuffle before returning him to Georgi and Mila. Mila bared a toothy smile while Georgi reminded Yuri of who he was and where he was at. The youth eventually regained his senses and the tough little Russian cookie was ready to kick butt with his bass and bow. But first, a classical grace fell over him and a sudden level of maturity arose that even took Viktor by surprise.

[ “Let the best musician win.” ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B4TpCgU2BwQnVFRtSmFWUEhLNW8/view?usp=sharing) Yuri stuck out his hand for Viktor to shake. A patch of warmth grew over Viktor and he shook Yuri’s hand. Firm grasp for a promise, but a gentle grip between friends.

“One more thing.” Viktor winked.

“What is it now, Old Man?” A teasing tone. Clearly, Yuri took after Mila, and Mila winked at Viktor as she skinned the squishy case off of Yuri’s double-bass. _Eh, interesting choice of words._

“Promise me that you won’t dull a single surprise.” Viktor bopped Yuri’s nose playfully and returned to his duet partner while Yuri crossed his arms and assumed his usual brooding look. Mila slapped Yuri’s back and told him that he was too cute to look mean.

An hour later with one more hour to go, Takeshi and Yuuri were wrapping up practice and last-minute pointers before they had to relinquish the practice room to another group of musicians. Carefully stowing away his viola, Yuuri fingered through his pockets as he followed a chill Takeshi out of the room and past the door. Yuuri gritted his teeth. Though a lot of omegas were on suppressants and were refraining from too much physical exertion, the deep sugary scents from all the heats fried Yuuri’s brain. He pulled a cloths-pin from his pocket and plugged it over his nose. Takeshi nudged Yuuri.

“That’s rude.”

 _“I can’t breathe,”_ Yuuri signed, showing Takeshi the tears that were spilling over his eyes. LIke a responsible young father, Takeshi pulled out some tissues from an inner pocket in his suit, and Yuuri dabbed his eyes. Managing to find relatively fresh air in a corner, the two partners fingered through their sheet music. Takeshi squinted at the parts that he circled. The tricky parts, the parts where he played “solo” while Yuuri counted his rests. The omega gulped and held onto a tissue so that it would soak up his sweat.

Mentally tapping out the rhythm, Takeshi focused on the neatly scribbled hints under each “solo” part. Courtesy of a piano legend. Viktor Nikiforov wasn’t just an inspirational pianist, he was an efficient one. He scribbled hints of where Takeshi could break up a tricky chord. He wrote in alternative fingerings if Takeshi couldn’t stay on tempo with the official finger patterns. But while these hints were useful on the technical side, the Russian pianist never failed to write in encouragements and funny doodles to help ease Takeshi’s mind.

Looking at a catchy doodle with a chibi-Viktor with confetti over his head made Takeshi laugh, and that was the point. Laughter was the best remedy to calm one’s mind, and it helped the heart and lungs expand to accommodate the sudden joy coursing through the blood. Yuuri didn’t know about this. He didn’t know that Viktor and Takeshi woke up early every morning to train and to break tension and nerves together. Yuuri didn’t know that Takeshi felt more confident with his piano skills because of Viktor. Takeshi planned on telling Yuuri, but right now wasn’t the best time.

Stuffing his sheet music away into his music binder, Takeshi was about to put everything away into his carry-on backpack before his fingers grazed a white shopping bag that was stuffed in between his normal clothes. A sweat drop ran down Takeshi’s neck. Yuuri _really was_ serious after all. Takeshi looked into the bag to make sure. _Yep, Yuuri doesn’t lie about these things._

It wasn’t that Takeshi was uncomfortable with what Yuuri brought, he just wondered what was running through the beta’s head when he chose this outfit. And the footwear! Well, Yuuri did have Mari as an older sister…

_“Yuuri.”_

Yuuri looked up from his music when he saw Takeshi sign.

_“Go change in the restroom. I’ll wait here, okay?”_

Yuuri glanced at the clock before shaking his head. _“But we’re the first performance for the evening session.”_

Takeshi looked at Yuuri as if he was a rebellious son. At this point, it sure _felt_ like Yuuri was his son. _“Better to get things done now than scramble later.”_ Takeshi pulled out the shopping bag and pushed it into Yuuri’s hands. Tinge of blush flowing up Takeshi’s face. _“Take my trenchcoat and put it on after you change. Better to keep a surprise a surprise. You know what I mean?”_

Yuuri nodded. With the clothing items gathered in his arms, Yuuri disappeared into the crowd as he hunted down for a restroom. Part of Takeshi wanted to follow Yuuri, but the other told him to chill and focus. Yuuri was an adult. He was going to be okay. And then, Takeshi thought about the outfit of choice that Yuuri chose to wear, and his parental instincts flared up again.

“It feels like he’s my daughter,” Takeshi mumbled under his breath before slouching in the corner. _“My strong and independent little flower.”_ Takeshi automatically imagined his triplets, all grown up, and started sobbing into his suit jacket. Unbalanced hormones at its dearest.

But while these events and these interactions are important to the main story, we cannot dawdle and forget why the characters were here. In the first place. After all, [ you only live once. ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B7F6oGLRoVtPVG9XTkdmb3NRZ0k/view?usp=sharing)

Glowing with excitement and clutching the rest of the day’s programs, a squeaking Minami lit up when he entered the concert hall in the Sydney Opera House. There were several halls and rooms to choose from, but all the performances were held in _The Concert Hall._ Thousands of shows a year, hundreds of thousands of people visiting this very building and hall to see magic right before their eyes. Clutching his phone, Minami took quick shots of the inner architecture and how the seats were arranged and spaced out. Bright orange lights lit the floor and aisle ways. Minami shuffled down the line of visitors, and his heart pounded as he got closer and closer to the main stage.

A dark platform surrounded by velvet curtains and beaming spotlights. A rosy, Yamaha grand piano off to the side, cloaked with a fine silk blanket to keep off the dust. Minami tried to take a picture but he had to remember that there were people behind him. Looking for seats and searching for the best spots to videotape and record. Respecting those wishes, Minami didn’t take out his phone until he found a sweet spot on the fourth row. It costed an arm and leg to get a spot this good, but it was worth it. Minami took a quick selfie and tagged so many instruments that the little omega was about to combust before his neighbor grunted and told him to settle down.

“S-Sorry!” Minami bowed his head.

A sigh. “Yeah, just don’t fidget too much. I have recordings to take.”

Minami lifted his head and met eyes with a stone-faced Korean with binders of sheet music and a baton across his lap. Heck, the man wasn’t even performing yet he looked as formal as the real performers! The man gave Minami a look, so the younger male glanced elsewhere and propped his arm up so that he had something to steady his recording hands. Phone on video mode, Minami clicked on the round white button and a recording was in session.

Another sigh.

Minami glanced from the corner of his eye. “Mister, I’m just here for a good time and I honestly feel so attacked right now.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to record once the competition _actually_ starts? Your phone is on low battery.”

All the blood ran out of Minami’s face. His red bangs looked pale too.

“Looks like we have the same phone.” The Korean pulled out his phone from his pocket and showed it to Minami. Indeed, they both had the same phone. “It just so happens that I carry spare, fully-charged batteries on me.”

Minami held his breath.

“Do you want to--?”

“Yes and thank you,” Minami blurted. And at that moment, Minami thought he made a new friend. For Seung-Gil, _a simple music-theory student with too much time on his hands_ , he had a spunky companion that didn’t bat an eyelash at the mountain of sheet music across his lap. He couldn’t say for sure that he and Minami-- _keep in mind, they have not introduced themselves just yet--_ bonded while they waited. When the lights dimmed down and the spotlights overhead glistened the stage like gold, everyone held their breath as the first performance began.

Emerging from the curtains was Georgi Popovich and Yuri Plisetsky. The pitter patter of footsteps as Georgi helped Yuri. [ A glistening, dark-centered double-bass leering at the audience while Yuri plucked the strings for last-second tuning ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B4TpCgU2BwQnaThkR0pQVWdqNDQ/view?usp=sharing) . All was good. Oh look, there was a stool for him. Yuri puffed his cheeks when he sat on it. Still too short to comfortably play in first position, but should he _really_ be complaining? If anything, this was Yuri’s advantage. He didn’t have to hunch over if he needed to run down his bass for the splitting treble notes. No need to sacrifice form if you had to look good while playing notes way out of your comfort zone.

Smile. Yuri always forgot to smile. He wasn’t playing for a poker-faced Lilia. A stone-faced Yakov wasn’t sitting in front of him with a clipboard and master score of Yuri and Georgi’s parts. The past two months rolled past Yuri’s mind like an outdated film before focusing on the anticipating crowd in front of him. Even in the faded darkness, Mila’s auburn hair was easy to make-out. A mechanical pencil in her hand, master score folded across her lap, and a distinct glint in her eyes that reminded Yuri of Lilia and Yakov. Sadly, both alphas couldn’t be here. Yuri doubted that the two had the time to stop and watch the performance. He wondered if his grandfather did. _Perhaps_.

Yuri glanced over at Georgi. A different tone cloaked the omega. Dignified by melting makeup, Georgi stood out, even though he was merely playing the accompaniment while Yuri took on the leading role. Eyeliner on point while a cloud of eyeshadow contrasted the angelic atmosphere that Yuri’s humble suspenders and folded dress shirt were supposed to represent. Georgi was indeed the _Devil’s Maker,_ but he was perfectly willing to step back to let Good triumph over Evil for one more day.

“Georgi Popovich and Yuri Plisetsky will be performing the piece _‘In Regards to Love: Agape’_ by Umebayashi Taro _._ Please hold off applause until the performance has ended.”

Silence.

Both duet partners glanced at each other. Georgi lifted his head and echoing bass chords rippled through the air as the fragile treble of Yuri’s bass resonated on the waves. A faint, strong voice shone through the rumble. Crisp vibrato and a jerk of a bow for the ending phrases. Yuri closed his eyes, and his bangs fell over him like a pair of fragile wings. Georgi’s subtle boom of dark chords tickling the background, keeping in time with the slight nod of Yuri’s head at every down beat. Trickle of notes along tight slurs. Nimble fingers crossed and tickling bass strings. Steady piano honing in on the great shifts, rippling and merging musical dynamics together for the balance of Good and Evil.

Though she wasn’t a true conductor, Mila counted the measure beats with the flick of her mechanical pencil. Eyes wandering left to right along the master score. Humming the melody under her breath when Yuri positioned lower over the bass for the treble notes. Tapping her feet along the floor in time with Georgi when he lifted and switched pedals, depending on the chords he was holding.

Sudden switch. Yuri sat as straight as he could and became the low drone. Flurry of piano keys emerging from the depths. The grand piano sang louder for an angel’s chorus. Burst of speed. A church waltz spun in Georgi, reminding the omega of all the waltzes he used to play in his family’s theatre. He remembered playing as the background accompaniment while local strings performed along with the singers during the Friday Night Shows. Each song was a blur to Georgi, but he relived every piece as he fingered through _‘In Regards of Love: Agape’._

 _Smile._ When the worst could happen, you smile because it _didn’t_ happen. Georgi had nothing to fear because Yuri was here. The double-bassists rarely glanced over at Georgi during the performance. Georgi had been keen on snatching glances at Yuri’s face at each musical phrase. The pure serenity that fell over the youth’s lips and eyes when he allowed himself to step back from the busy current, to hear his inner voice. The reckless abandon that took charge over Yuri’s fingers when he returned to the lower register, accompanying Georgi with a beaming smile. A smile so rare that it made Georgi’s heart flutter like a blessed dove.

[ _That_ was the look of a musician who was truly at peace with his abilities.](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B7F6oGLRoVtPRTBjdkNwUjh6aVE/view) _The look_ of a boy who found his Love _._ Yuri was the shining star onstage, and Georgi didn’t mind one bit as he noodled through the rest of the melody. Just being here, just settled on the World’s Stage like the great Shakespeare or like the inquisitive Mozart was enough for Georgi. His abilities as an actor, as a musician, and as a friend might’ve been subpar compared to those great names, but Georgi wasn’t alone. He was here with a budding talent. He was here with Yuri and that meant more to Georgi than making a big-name for himself. _Or, surpassing Viktor._

A younger Georgi wanted to be independent like Viktor Nikiforov. A wiser Georgi was happy and proud to be performing with a close and dear friend. The past two months weren’t a waste, and Georgi wasn’t going to crack and crumble now. It’d be an insult to Yakov’s name. It’d be hostile towards the fine teachings that Lilia bestowed over Georgi as she helped nurture the pianist and Yuri to be the performers they were today. A slap to the face to Mila because she came to support her friends with her familiar face and cheeky personality.

Georgi had given up on himself.

He _wasn’t_ going to give-up on his loved ones.

The Popovich Theatre was his foundation, Lilia and Yakov were the soil and water that helped him blossom, and Yuri and Mila were the clippers that trimmed away the negative thoughts and disappointments that lurked very near and dear to Georgi’s roots. He was a strong pianist. Forever overshadowed by a legend but nonetheless, Georgi was a strong musician that rounded and curved Yuri’s tiny mistakes. Burdening the aches over his shoulders so that Yuri would sound flawless and beautiful because...When Georgi performed with Yuri, the piano did sound beautiful and Yuri’s double-bass puffed out its chest for the last lingering bass notes that slid into treble territory. A whole note fading into silence.

Applause from the audience. Mila dropped her mechanical pencil, stuck two fingers into her mouth, and whistled like a train emerging from the Taiga. Georgi stood up, crossed to the center of the stage with great strides, and bowed alongside with Yuri. The double-bassist was panting, clearly exhausted from the energy and emotion well-spent in an almost three minute-long story. The applause was deaf to his ears. All he heard were Georgi’s footsteps, and that motivated the youth to lift his head.

For once, Georgi’s makeup didn’t look so bad. With the dramatics well and gone, Georgi actually looked _good_ in makeup, and Yuri couldn’t stop laughing at that. Of course, the older male had question marks popping over his head, but Georgi returned a grin and helped Yuri off the stool.

Leaning on his bass for support, Yuri bowed his head once. Acknowledging Mila in the front row and just to rile up Yakov and Lilia, _who may or may not be watching at the moment._ Yuri bowed his head twice. Acknowledging the audience and the judges that traveled all this way to hear him and Georgi perform.

Lastily, Yuri did a full-on bow with Georgi, and that was when Yuri finally heard the applause. Yuri finally heard the fruits of his labor. Before he knew it, he slipped off his bass and fell to his feet. Tears fell. Yuri didn’t know why. He wasn’t sad. He was _happy._ He had never felt this kind of adrenaline and excitement before in his life. Here he was, the supposed _‘Russian Punk of the Bass Section’_ , down on his knees and sobbing tears of joy.

Yuri clung to Georgi’s arm as they trooped offstage together. Mila dashed from the front row and she enveloped Georgi and Yuri into her arms, in the privacy space long behind the stage curtains. She was more of a sobbing mess than Yuri, and Yuri teased Mila. Mila told Yuri to stop being a hypocrite. All the while, Georgi held his friends close, scented their faces softly, and quietly hid his tears.

 _“Bullshit, Georgi._ You’re always telling me to not hold back on my emotions,” Mila mumbled, jabbing her finger against Georgi’s cheek.

“This is different. I have to remain--”

Wiping the snot from his nose, Yuri pouted at his duet partner. _“You grownups and your rules,”_ he muttered under his breath. “It doesn’t matter whether you’re an alpha, an omega, a beta, or someone waiting for their ‘turning’. You should be allowed to express your feelings without shame, resentment, or hatred.”

Georgi stared at Yuri before his throat found its voice again. “That was... _Really_ mature of you, Yuri. Wow.”

Before Georgi was aware of it, a tear ran down his face. Georgi cried over Yuri and Mila’s shoulders. Mila softly shushed Georgi and drew shapes along his back while Yuri weakly scented Georgi so that the omega could feel loved again.

After the first performance with Georgi Popovich and Yuri Plisetsky, the audience and judges already had expectations for the rest of the performances. Great musicians and shy novices of the alike came and went with the tide, surprising the music community and international followings. Scores were tallied on a master post, but no score was given out until the final performance of the night. Now a reasonable chunk of afternoon musicians have performed before it was Phichit’s cue.

The Thai violist went through the usual background check. Bow rosined and ready? Good. How was his tie? Phichit had asked Chris to tie it for him earlier, but now he was uncertain if it was crooked or not. It had to be his imagination, but Phichit didn’t feel better until he asked for Yuuri’s opinion. The older violist helped adjust the tie and that was about it. Gave Phichit the a-okay symbol and helped smooth back Phichit’s hair and applied lip balm over the junior’s lips. Phichit always licked his lips when he was nervous, and it wasn’t good form to stick out your tongue during a performance.

 _“Thank you,”_ Phichit mouthed.

 _“I believe in you,”_ Yuuri signed back, escorting Phichit to the edge of the velvet curtain before the younger male walked the rest of the length on his own. A spotlight hovered over him, blinding him a bit as he propped his viola onto his shoulder and plucked his strings for last-minute tuning. All was good. Resting his bow over his instrument, Phichit closed his eyes.

“Phichit Chulanont will be performing the piece [ _Capriccio ‘Hommage a Paganini’, Op. 55_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fArSo5INcLA&list=LL1ay1IwgbQtTRLBi3jBftDw&index=17) by Henri Vieuxtemps. Please hold off applause until the performance has ended.”

Phichit gulped. It was now or never. Breathe. Remember. Running his bow steadily for the first few notes, Phichit positioned his viola’s F-holes towards the audience so that they could hear his crescendo. Mingling of fingers hitting the grace notes and sly vibratos  that faded Juilliard back into Phichit’s mind. Envisioning the towering buildings and pillars that seemed to be always echoing with music. A strong bow, a confident lover emerging from the hollow of a shell that they had been hiding in for two weeks since the separation from a love one.

Phichit had no idea where that image came from, but he liked to imagine it was perhaps Professor Celestino or Yuuri. Then again, Phichit could see himself in those imagined shoes. Venturing out from a lone and dreary cave that masked the smiles and happiness that so many believed that was plastered across his face. A mask slowly tightening over its user until it choked them to the core. But, this piece was _not_ that. This was the song for a butterfly, a butterfly braving through a bitter winter to see her Love again.

Hidden under tufts of snow and buried to the antenna with a fluffy winter gown, the fragile little butterfly survived on her own. Feeding from fallen flowers and crumbling nectar reserves. In hopes to spread her delicate wings, to soar across the Spring sky once more with her Love. A dear butterfly that she had courted many months ago when they were just chubby caterpillars on a milkweed.

Fumbling at each other’s expense before blossoming into beautiful butterflies and wrapped in the other’s embrace. But alas, during the migration, she lost sight of her Love and became lost. Fluttering back and forth under an arctic sky, the female butterfly hunkered down, avoiding the prevailing winds.

Frost crawling up her skin and cracking her wings. Twigs for legs after the real ones snapped off from the cold. A desperate voice pleading for Spring to come back so that she could use her remaining strength to find her Lover again. Shivering from the cold until all was left was her voice. A mere echo of who she used to be. Love wasn’t so kind.

The butterflies came back at the march of Spring, and the male butterfly forever on the search for his mate. _Where did she go? Why did she leave?_ Passing by the stump on the ground that housed her brittle remains and the remnants of her voice. The male butterfly forever alone until he perished too and returned to the Earth, where he and his Lover were reunited again. Only in Death, could they be together. _Forever_.

The piece ended with a pizzicato on Phichit’s part and his tragedy of a love story was done. Phichit finally opened his eyes. Blinded from the spotlights. Blinking furiously as applause spilled from every corner of the concert hall. Lowering his viola and bow, Phichit bowed not once, not twice. Three times. Each bow thanking the audience for listening to him perform. Thunderous applause still deafening Phichit’s ears when he retreated backstage and bumped into Yuuri.

By now, the omega was curious as to why his friend was wearing such a long trench coat on a day like this. It was so long that Phichit could barely see Yuuri’s sneakers poking out from underneath. Why were his eyes looking down? Phichit wanted to see Yuuri’s face. Yuuri’s cinnamon eyes were sharp with energy when he helped Phichit pack the viola away. While Yuuri helped, a moment of hesitation crept over Phichit. Words caught in the back of his throat. Reaching out a shy finger, Phichit tapped Yuuri’s shoulder. The older violist turned his head.

“What do you think of my performance?” Hushed words. Merely _just_ words, but Yuuri’s reply meant everything to Phichit. He didn’t tear his eyes away from his old college roommate. Phichit knew that Yuuri couldn’t comment about the tone or the tuning, but those things were easy to fix. Expression, technical-building, and recognizing distinct physical shifts while performing were more important. Honestly, Phichit’s heart was beating so quickly that he swore that Yuuri could hear it, despite being deaf.

Yuuri rested a thumb over his lips, lost in thought as he glanced over Phichit’s right shoulder. Phichit peeled his attention away from the sight. The beta was unaware that his thumb was brushed his bottom lip like he wanted a kiss. When Phichit saw hands moving, he reeled his attention back to Yuuri and stared solely at the hands.

 _“Even though it’s a formal performance, it’s alright to express some movement.”_ Yuuri imitated Phichit’s stance during the performance. The violist was basically imitating a tree, and that tree was supposed to be Phichit! Was it a good time to crawl under a fluffy nest of blankets and cry? _No_ . Phichit braced himself for more of Yuuri’s critique. _“Don’t forget that the audience is in front of you and not just your hand.”_ Curling a hand over Phichit’s, Yuuri positioned the omega’s arms and hands as if he was on the stage again.

From how Phichit played before, it definitely looked like he was ignoring the audience. When Yuuri lifted the younger male’s head, Phichit’s viewed opened up to a sight he never noticed before. He bumped into Yuuri, and the older violist had to adjust his glasses. But, the two former roommates shook and laughed it off.

 _“Despite all of that, you played with a lot of emotion. From your facial expressions alone, it told the crowd a story that notes may not have been able to convey. Your shifting looked really clean, and you seemed in-tune for the most part.”_ Yuuri confessed that he had his tuner app out while Phichit played. With outside interferences and the unsteady shuffles from feet, the tuner wasn’t a hundred percent reliable. However, it was reliable enough for Yuuri to cast his judgement call. _“I liked your tone the most.”_

“Okay, you’re just teasing me at this point~” Phichit stuck out his tongue, playfully.

Yuuri shook his head. _“I heard your music loud and clear.”_ A shy smile tugging Yuuri’s lips as Phichit digested the signs that he just read. Yuuri was able to hear his music. Not through an auditory sense, but by a feeling. Some sort of feeling enveloped Yuuri during Phichit’s performance, and the beta swore he heard _something_ in the back of his mind. It wasn’t a viola, but it sounded warm like one. _Warm and kind. Just like Phichit._ Yuuri thought that Phichit ought to know this and the latter watched Yuuri fondly, as if he was meeting his idol for the first time.

In a sense, this was Phichit’s first time encountering Yuuri in an atmosphere like this. Despite being competitors, Yuuri was still his usual cheery self in Phichit’s eyes. For a fleeting moment, Phichit felt a sweet warmth blossom over his chest. Next second later, Phichit scooted Yuuri closer to him when Viktor and Otabek passed by for their performance.

Viktor flickered his eyes towards the innocent arm draped around Yuuri’s shoulders before meeting Phichit’s gaze. Phichit held a casual grin. A protective hand squeezing Yuuri’s arm gently as he escorted the beta back to his duet partner. Viktor’s eyes followed Phichit until he couldn’t see the violist anymore. Bangs clouding over his eyes with the swish of the head, Viktor cleared his thoughts and wished Otabek the best as the two ambled across the stage to their respective spots.

Seated behind the piano, Viktor took care to crack his knuckles far from the piano’s microphone. Curved fingers across black and white keys. Glancing through the space under the propped up piano lid, Viktor focused in on Otabek’s face. The cellist gave an approving nod. Cello out, bow rested across his thigh, adjusting the frilly cloth that popped from his collar. Otabek preferred dark colors instead of a shining attire that made him look like a bonafide Disney prince. Nonetheless, today was the day for the cello to stand out and so, the cellist had to visually stand out as well. On the other end of the spectrum, Viktor wore his respective dark colors to represent the background, but the buzz of the crowd didn’t seem to realize that.

Well then, Otabek will have to _show_ the audience where attention needed to lie.

 _“Viktor Nikiforov--”_ The announcer paused and waited for the the concert hall to grow silent and still. “Viktor Nikiforov and Otabek Altin will be performing _‘Salut d’amour, Op.12’_ by Edward Elgar. _Please_ hold off applause until the performance has ended.”

Applause happened anyway. Viktor hung his head in embarrassment, but he quickly brushed his bangs to the side as his undivided attention fell upon Otabek. The cellist raised his bow and rested it over thick cello strings. He tipped his head back, sighed, and nodded the last two beats of a measure. Viktor chimed in with his piano and built up a steady tempo on which Otabek’s cello floated over on while a pristine and crisp lull rowed the audience down an easy river.

The piano was the river. The cello was the rowboat. Gentle waves caressing the rowboat, motivating it to swim along koi fish as delicate herons dipped their beaks into the refreshing water for a drink. Pairs of swans, serenading each other with the gentle dip of a beak or the raise of a wing. Circling one another in a dance as the little rowboat rested under a flowering peach tree. Decorated in a pink gown of blossoms while round, fuzzy fruit drifted down the tender river. Bumping into a chubby frog or simply carrying dragonflies along the eve of a _Midsummer NIght’s Dream._

And maybe Otabek was on that rowboat filled with peach blossoms, and his cello was his guide as the music helped the forest grow. Night faeries emerging from mushroom caps, tree holes, and from the buds scattered throughout the greenery and mud. Fireflies surrounding Otabek in an ethereal bliss as his cello and its song swirled towards the nightly constellations. A woman with a skirt dressed in stars, spinning and falling into the arms of her lover as they both waltzed in heels and flourished their gowns. Winking and laughing as comets flew past their hair before ending with a tender kiss on the forehead.

Otabek’s cello song wasn’t over yet. Poking his bow through the shrubbery as the rowboat drifted closer to the mainland, Otabek encountered a faerie. A small, blonde faerie with a mushroom cap as a hat and with stubby wings of a moth. A healthy buzz echoing in Otabek’s mind as the little faerie circled Otabek and rested on a peg on top of his cello. Snoozing a little bit, munching on a little pirozhki filled with nectar, and sliding down the cello strings to pluck a few notes while Otabek played.

Of course, faeries didn’t like to be touched. Otabek knew that. He kept his distance, but this peculiar little mushroom faerie looked up at Otabek with awe while Otabek stared down at it in fascination. How could someone so magical look up to him when Otabek wanted to explore the world through the faerie’s eyes. Otabek and his cello didn’t know magic, but the mushroom faerie saw an ethereal kind of magic lurking deep within Otabek’s heart. A magic that Otabek didn’t even know that he had. Snickering his little faerie laugh, the mushroom faerie sprung up and dusted Otabek with so much magical dust that Otabek sneezed and blew the faerie away.

Suddenly, Otabek felt himself shrinking like Alice in her adventures in Wonderland. His cello grew bigger and heavier. Otabek grew smaller and smaller. He grew so small that he had to jump out of the way before his cello and bow crushed him over a bed of peach blossoms. Struggling onto his feet, Otabek realized that he had moth wings adorned over his back. A strange yellow dust fell from his wings when he flew, so Otabek sprinkled the dust over his cello and bow and they shrunk down too! The mushroom faerie returned with a little faerie bass and bow and played with Otabek as the rowboat drifted downstream.

Only the fireflies could hear them now, and Otabek kept a straight face while the mushroom faerie smiled and laughed so that Otabek could break face and smile too. So for the mushroom faerie’s sake, Otabek did smile. He ended up smiling throughout his performance. It didn’t catch Viktor off-guard. He could look into the omega’s heart and understand why the usually stoic Otabek was dressed with a simple glee.

Viktor and the audience were lucky to see such a smile from Otabek. A smile that was far luckier than a four-leaf clover or a horseshoe blessed from a leprechaun. Otabek knew who he was performing for, so what about Viktor?

Did he have someone to perform for? Yes and no. [ Viktor had the capacity to fill his music with Love, but he knew that the notes would fall upon deaf ears. ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B4TpCgU2BwQnNU5SZ1QzRGE0Y2s/view) Yuuri would never be able to hear Viktor’s piano, and that was a sudden fact that the alpha had to comprehend. Even though it strained Viktor’s heart and caused him more pain that he could bare now, Viktor played with such peace in mind that nothing else mattered to him than _now._ If Yuuri was watching, he could only see Viktor’s back and the stretch of his arms as his sleeves tugged back. Exposing the clean bandages that covered the scars that Yuuri inflicted a few days before.

The scars would never heal, but Viktor didn’t view them as a burden to carry. No. If he was to fall deeply for Yuuri, he didn’t want to hide the struggles in their relationship as the two grew closer to understanding the other and his quirks. Viktor knew next to nothing about Yuuri while Yuuri could know everything about Viktor with a few key words and the internet.

However, the best learning came when you saw the subject before your eyes and you could ask the questions you wanted to ask and see the flicker of the eyes, the slight bite of the tongue, and the stunned fingers that traced shapes along your arm as the subject kept you warm when he thought you were fast asleep on the first night.

Viktor would never forget. Fast asleep and curled under a blanket that Yuuri pulled up during their first night together. As bedmates. In a shared hotel room. Viktor was awoken moments before because he heard Yuuri whimpering in his sleep, digging his injured back against the hard springs that kept the bed firm. On the other bed, Takeshi was brewing a storm with his vocal cords while Otabek curled close to the older omega like a kitten.

They didn’t hear Yuuri in those desperate moments where the beta kicked off the covers and squirmed around. _Agitated_. Rising from his the cushioned chair, Viktor gently rolled the sleeping Yuuri back onto his belly. Fishing for the melted ice pack from the blankets, Viktor slid it onto the floor and watched Yuuri’s clenched jaw slack and fall open slightly as a pleasant dream eased the beta’s mind.

At the time, Viktor thought about returning to the chair, but part of him wanted to make sure that Yuuri didn’t roll onto his bruise again. Climbing into bed next to his Love, Viktor pulled the covers up to keep them both warm and safe, leaned in close to kiss the top of Yuuri’s head, and wrapped a loose arm over Yuuri’s shoulders before drifting off to sleep. A domestic bliss that Viktor only knew from dreams. The hyperactive organ in his chest slowed down to barely rest, and Viktor was at home again.

He was lucky to meet Katsuki Yuuri.

He was lucky to meet Yuuri as a fledgling teen, as a jaded pianist in his early twenties, as a man who lost his way just a year ago, and now again as a man and musician who found the key to his existence. Maybe playing the piano was part of the puzzle. Maybe Viktor was meant to find someone to share his music with. Not just the audience, not just Yakov or Lilia, or the supposed strings players back at the _Moscow Symphony_ . A one-on-one performance for someone who helped him live again, but yet these feelings will not be said. Merely gestured through the everyday walk of life so that Viktor could see Yuuri smile and feel _a smile_ curve over his own lips before holding the violist close.

If he was a happiness that Viktor could adore and love, every heartbeat in Viktor’s body told him to share Yuuri’s love. Near the end of the piece, Viktor suddenly remembered the protective glint over Phichit’s eyes as he pulled Yuuri away and led the beta back to his duet partner. Viktor wasn’t mad. _Not entirely_. Sure, the alpha in him wanted to pull Phichit’s collar and drag the omega somewhere private for a little chat. That behavior wasn’t Viktor, much like how that possessive glint over Phichit’s eyes wasn’t the omega’s typical behavior.

There was a bond between Yuuri and Phichit, and Viktor understood that. Could Phichit have handled it better? Perhaps, and Viktor gave the omega the benefit of the doubt.

It wasn’t easy to lose your friend to someone else, so Viktor promised to tread carefully. This wasn’t a walk in the park, like the movies would say. People weren’t going to simply step aside because Viktor was an alpha, and he wasn’t expecting anybody to do so. Have the open arms of a friend and give everybody their due respect and gratitude for accepting another into the party.

The _Give and Take of Love_ was a _Game of Patience,_ and that was how Viktor showed his Love.

The piece ended and all was very well. Viktor rose from his spot, crossed the stage to reunite with Otabek, and both musicians bowed while applause erupted from all corners of the concert hall. Otabek was no longer smiling, but he wore his happiness like a badge over his chest. Viktor gave a sly smile and playfully nudged the cellist before retreating offstage.

Chris hovered by the stage wing, and the two old rivals shook hands before parting ways. Well, Chris wasn’t ready to part ways. He squeezed Viktor’s hand before slowly letting go. Viktor turned his head, but the Swiss saxophonist had already disappeared somewhere. Probably to warm up on his lips and lungs before his performance during the evening session.

“Viktor?” Otabek was ahead, waiting for his pianist.

Viktor looked down at his hand before striding forward to meet Otabek. It must’ve been Viktor’s imagination. Chris’ grip was _weaker._

The next performance up was the soulful duet between a violinist and a vocalist. Guanghong and Leo. Leo and Guanghong. They were still working on which name sounded better first. But nonetheless, the time had come for them to perform and Guanghong snapped his bowtie before dipping into the spotlight first. Leo followed with an air of nerves. This was their second GDC. Alright, no fumbling. Guanghong didn’t trip this time, and Leo remembered his lines. That was good. A stark improvement!

The audience watched as the duo got into position. Under the bright spotlight, it was hard to see Guanghong’s freckles. It was as if they simply vanished from his person, but Leo knew that wasn’t true. The little dots and dashes decorated the violinist like the icing on a cake and if they were gone...Well, that poor birthday cake wasn’t a cake anymore without the ribbons and candles. Deep breaths. Leo imagined his highest and lowest note. What was the range? How many notes in between? He had to stay steady with Guanghong. Listen for the first note from the violin and tune to it. Stick to that scale, to that pattern. Leo was ready, and so was Guanghong.

“Guanghong Ji and Leo de la Iglesia will be performing _‘Right Here Waiting’_ by Richard Marx. Please hold off the applause until the performance has ended.”

That was the beauty of a vocalist. They didn’t have the exact same rules that fell upon classical strings or hardy band instruments. Any piece from any time could be performed without a bat of an eyelash since so many vocalists chose to do solos while performing in the GDC. Leo wasn’t one of those vocalists, but he liked the wiggle room that he had with his choice of songs. And because Guanghong was his partner, the violinist didn’t have to sweat over challenging pieces from the Baroque Era. Well, Leo couldn’t say that. Unlike most other musicians and most vocalists, Leo’s humble beginning into music was from the church choir.

Now wasn’t the time to remember the past. It was time to perform. Counting off with his fingers, Leo gave Guanghong the signal. The sheepish alpha held a whole note for Leo to tune to for the background. Hand over his chest, Leo remembered to breathe as he glanced from the corner of his eye to watch Guanghong’s running fingers and tentative bow before the alpha grew stronger. The violin grew quiet when the voice shone through.

[ An airy voice, most likely to be found in a church choir at the start of Autumn during the Thanksgiving season. ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B4TpCgU2BwQnRFJFdnpCUEZHRWM/view?usp=sharing) With the ballet of squirrels hopping from tree to tree, acorns rolled onto the patchy grass and shied under orange and red leaves. Crunch of shoes gathered the strength to stand up and sing. Leo found his voice at the tender age of eight, while sitting on a tree branch next to the local church. The side window was open and the youth heard the humble choir and the poetic piano. Most strikingly, Leo heard an angel’s violin and the sweet notes coaxed the little boy to sing while God shed a sunset over the scenery.

Leo wanted to know who the violinist was. Alas, the violinist was merely a traveler who came by to play for one of the Sunday Masses before venturing up to New York City for a show. Astounded to learn that Leo was the singer that serenaded her violin, the musician encouraged Leo to use his voice as an instrument and as a tool to inspire others, much like how his voice inspired the violinist to play the church songs sweetly during Thanksgiving.

And so, Autumn turned to Spring, to Summer, to Fall, to Winter, and repeated all over again. Leo sang every day until he became a college student and moved from his humble home in Houston to Austin, Texas for college. Singing was different there. It became more as a hobby, more as a pastime when homework and essays were finished with. Leo still enjoyed music and he volunteered to be in the men’s choir a few times at church, but he slowly began to lose his way. Perhaps, he missed his dear family. Frequent phone calls to little siblings, to his parents, to his aunts and uncles and grandparents weren’t enough. Skype brought their world to him, but he wanted his world to join theirs.

Leo missed singing to his family and singing to one’s self in a stuffy dorm room or out in nature wasn’t the same, unless you had a familiar face to sing with. Leo’s voice waited for someone to listen, but no one ever came until Leo met Guanghong.

Now, Guanghong wasn’t a foreign exchange student. A shy alpha from China that came over to perform. Simple as that. Leo was a volunteer who helped collect tickets from kids and teens who came from schools across the state to listen to the charity performance so that more kids can be introduced to the music programs that are provided in their educational setting. Not only that, all the money was to be donated to bring instruments and teachers to school districts that lacked a music program. Music was an art and like any art, it was a way of expression. An outlet for an individual to take their mind off of quarrelsome troubles, especially in transitioning teens and young adults.

Leo had a feeling that most kids wouldn’t be interested in hearing stuffy strings play under a hot sun. To be honest, Leo wanted to stay inside and work on Statistics problems from the textbook, but something told him to volunteer and to stay here. Something told him that he would hit a bout of inspiration in a split second. Now, Leo didn’t really believe in fate. If something happened, it was what God intended or it was an extension of a choice you made sometime in the past. Either way, Leo was weary. What kind of inspiration was he expecting. At the time, he wasn’t sure.

He was fixated on Guanghong when the short alpha tuned his strings carefully under the baking sun. Some of the older teens teased Guanghong because of his height and youthful face. They didn’t believe that Guanghong was their senior or an alpha. The violinist’s scent was so faint that it was pretty much nonexistent. When adults weren’t looking, a few teenage alphas spooked Guanghong to show him who was boss. Very patiently, Guanghong told the teenagers to keep to themselves and to not disrespect any other musician who came to the charity event to perform.

Leo made sure to notify the teens’ teachers after the incident, and they didn’t bother Guanghong anymore. But in Texas, any hot day was a dragging day. Musicians came and went with the clouds until Guanghong was the last performer and he was trembling as he propped his violin onto his shoulder and rested his bow to play. Leo recognized the tune as soon as Guanghong drew his bow. A sweet love song from Richard Marx, from back in the day. Leo wished that the teens up front would zip it. He wanted to hear Guanghong’s violin better.

Alas, the violinist was shaking so much that his instrument rattled while he played, but Leo could make out the tune and feel the notes in his throat as he sang softly at first before standing up with confidence. People turned and watched Leo approach Guanghong as he sang the lyrics while Guanghong alternated between accompaniment and backup lead. Definitely a look of confusion splashed across Guanghong’s face, but Leo winked and stood next to the violinist proudly as heart and soul sprouted from the instrument, grew from the voice, and was harvested by the ears.

A strong voice. A strong violin. A steady heart. A steady mind. A balanced duet that ended with applause while time slipped from Leo’s reach and suddenly, he was onstage for his first GDC with Guanghong by his side and they were rambling through songs in front of an international audience while math equations and theorems bounced around in Leo’s head.

It was true. Leo and Guanghong didn’t know each other very well. Their first GDC was a spur of the moment choice that changed their lives forever. True, Leo had to take summer school to make up for the hours and assignments he couldn’t complete during the school year because of the GDC. True, he didn’t get to interact with his school community very much because of the GDC, but the GDC opened a door that Leo didn’t close.

After all this time where he had an instrument that he didn’t know what to use it for, Leo found his reason when he stood next to Guanghong and sang a duet with the violinist. What did Love mean to him? Well, it meant freedom. What did freedom mean? Leo still had a long way to go before he could answer that question, but freedom and Love weren’t just words to get out of a tough situation or place. They were the feelings that motivated a person to pursue their dreams, their goals, and to be who they were meant to be.

And maybe that wasn’t a concrete definition for this _Theme of Love,_ but Leo couldn’t deny that he had a loving heart when he and Guanghong bowed their heads after the song and walked offstage. Holding each other’s hands for support, Love, and for strength. They were still newbies who got roped into the flair of music, but music gave them more joy than they would ever know. They found an extension of that joy from each other.

With that, the afternoon stretched to the edge of its territory before one more performance was left before the evening session. A two hour reprieve for everyone involved. Grab some dinner, stroll around the Sydney Opera House while the wind whipped through your hair. Seabirds hovering overhead, ready to swoop down and a take nibble out of your meal or ice cream. The temperature was cool enough for omegas to enjoy while splashing close to the shore, kicking up water to cool the others off.

A sunset dipping closer to the horizon. Close enough to kiss, but not close enough to say, _“Goodnight.”_ Sidewalks littered with musicians as paper plates and plastic forks were across laps while meals were eaten with laughter and enthusiasm. Water bottles passed out and the _“youngbloods”,_ as Chris would call them, didn’t venture far from the sidewalk while the older folks danced across the baking sand and salty water.

Out on the beach, Emil strummed his guitar while Michele tipped his head back and played his trumpet. Both omegas sat back-to-back, sitting across the sand with a beach towel separating them. A towel under Michele so that his dress pants wouldn’t be stained. Pure sand clinging to Emil’s pants and calves as he sang a Czech lullaby under his breath. Thumb tapping the wood of his guitar. Strumming chords with a soft, agile feel that was akin to the peace of water bugs skating over a pond.

Michele’s proud trumpet playing an improv of the Czech lullaby, focusing in on the melody issuing from Emil’s lips before delivering a soulful salute to a good day. The beauty of a trumpet and a guitar forging and melting together to illustrate the delicacy of Life and Love under a sky splashed with orange, red, and blue. Sara was off in the ocean, holding up the ends of her dress as she ran and splashed with Mila Babicheva of Russia. Both women dancing under a sky, soon littered with stars as the city lights dulled to let Nature prevail. The harp of Sara’s voice resonated against the coming and receding tides, and Michele caught sight of Sara glancing back at him with a smile.

Now _that_ was a sight Michele was never going to forget. A true, genuine smile painted over his sister’s lips. A smile that didn’t need a frown or blood. Sara deserved more than just a firm smile or a protective glance that greeted her before she went out to explore the Love and Life that this world was forged on. Michele lowered his trumpet, but he still played the Czech lullaby. Slower, softer. Enough to sound like a funeral piece as one casted away something old, in hopes to welcome something new _yet_ familiar.

Michele didn’t flinch when Emil kept one hand on his guitar to pluck single strings while the other hand sat next to MIchele. Dropping his guard, _just this once,_ Michele kept one hand on his trumpet. He dropped the other and met Emil’s hand. The omegas squeezed each other’s grip as they turned to keep a good eye on Sara as she wrapped an affectionate arm around a very red Mila. Taking selfies in the evening.

Michele’s trumpet faded into silence.

Emil broke the silence.

“I know Sergio is no longer with us, but do you think he would be proud of Sara’s performance?”

“How would I know?” Michele rested his trumpet over his thigh. “Sergio is Sergio. Sara is Sara.”

Emil stroked his beard with his thumb. “Sergio _was_ Sara. Sara _is_ Sergio.” Silence. Michele didn’t blow up. MIchele didn’t hit his friend. Emil didn’t fall into the sand. Nothing. The truth hung in the air, and Michele balled his free hand into a fist. Emil didn’t back away.

Saying the name “Sergio” was a sore topic for Michele, and the Czech omega found himself staring at the scars that poked out from MIchele’s fancy dress shirt and vest. Crawling above his collarbone, the scars merged from the base of the Italian’s neck before breaking off into ragged branches that snaked down the man’s chest before stopping at the base of his heart.

[ The near-fatal cost that came when Michele sacrificed himself to keep Sara safe from an abusive boyfriend. ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B4TpCgU2BwQnRXN1aEhfbjlFY1E/view?usp=sharing) An _alpha_ boyfriend, at that. Emil remembered the phone call clearly.

A ragged call from Sara when she hiccupped and cried that Michele was in the hospital. The paralysis that electrified Emil’s body. His phone slipped from his hands and bounced over the floor. Keys to the car, Emil drove the whole length from his country to Italy. Gunning the gas pedal. Trembling hands over the steering wheel as a black and white episode played across Emil’s eyes.

Michele followed Sara and her boyfriend on one of their dates. Brotherly instincts told Michele to follow. Sara hadn’t been smiling much ever since her surgery. At first, she _did_ smile, but that smile became a mask and Michele found medicine and bloody bandages in Sara’s room one night and got scared. He followed his sister and her boyfriend on their date.

Michele hid and spied, phone ready to record any evidence that made his sister cry.

The jerk of a boyfriend almost did the unspeakable when Sara said that she wanted to break the relationship because terror and pain were not the components of a loving relationship. The boyfriend pulled a knife. Michele ran. He shielded Sara and took the blow.

In the very public struggle, Michele beat the boyfriend to Hell. This wasn’t about dynamics anymore. _This_ was about a choice, and if a damn person couldn’t respect someone’s choice, then move on and don’t bother the individual again. How dare this man insult his sister. How dare this man hurt Sara and force her to belittle herself. How dare this man view Sara as fodder for his own selfish desires.

How dare he insult Sara and say that she was better off as a man. Michele and the boyfriend fought until officers came and yanked the two off each other. Michele in critical condition. The ass of a boyfriend snarling, calling Michele _“less of a man”_ for not doing this to Sara, _himself_. Michele struggled to fight again, but he was pale as a sheet and fainted.

And after Emil heard the news and _drove_ all the way to Italy, he comforted Sara and kept his distance until Sara grew comfortable enough for a hug. Emil offered himself as the steady figure for Sara to cry on. He asked Sara if he could scent her. She nodded.

Rubbing his cheek against Sara’s cheek, Emil shushed softly in Sara’s ear and told her that she was Sara Crispino and as a Crispino, she was as strong and as a loving as her dear older brother. It didn’t matter who she was before because Sara was always Sara, and Emil told her that he and Michele would never let anyone tell her otherwise.

When Michele was strong enough to have visitors, he didn’t lecture Sara for not telling him what was going on. Under the clean covers of the hospital bed, Michele apologized to Sara, saying that he should’ve noticed that something was wrong long before now.

 _“If someone hurts you, it also hurts me.”_ Michele rubbed Sara’s hand softly with his thumb. _“I’m sorry that I didn’t notice the ache sooner.”_

And that was Emil’s memory of the incident.

That was years ago, but Emil remembered that memory as he thought of the _Theme of Love._ When Sara came over to her brother and Emil, Michele plucked up his usual protective-flair and told her to be careful while out in water. That a cold was very bad and that they had another performance to do tomorrow. Sara waved it off and said that she _was_ careful. Michele puckered his lips and told Sara that she was lying.

Emil laughed in the background and strummed a few more tunes over his guitar. Maybe the Crispino twins did bicker more than they wanted to, but but Michele showed his Love through reminders while Sara showed her love with promises that she can stronger so that Michele _didn’t_ have to worry anymore.

For Emil? He loved the guitar. Simple as that.

Enough sentiments along a beach where memories came and went with the tides. Now was the time for the evening performances. Two more hours to go before the first leg of the GDC was done. A sudden adrenaline rush captured Takeshi’s heart. Now or never, this was when he and Yuuri had to shine. Show what they could do. Be the best that they’ll ever be. All that good stuff. The omega sighed, resting his face into his hands. Trying to come to grips of what will happen.

No point in rereading Viktor’s notes now. Takeshi needed to have his game on, and he wasn’t alone. Lifting his head from a personal low, Takeshi met Yuuri’s eyes and the beta gave an acknowledging nod. It was time. _Now or never_ . Takeshi gestured for Yuuri to turn around. Hesitation before Takeshi rested a hand over Yuuri’s shoulder and pulled the trench coat off. The coat crumbled onto the floor before Yuuri slipped out of his sneakers and fitted into a pair of shoes fit for a Cinderella, or perhaps a _flighty Cinderella._

Stretching out his hand, Takeshi manually signed, _“We can do this.”_

“I know we can.”

Yuuri squeezed Takeshi’s arm before slipping out of the way to unbuckle his viola case. All the while, Takeshi registered the words that he heard before accepting them. A small step towards speaking, but Takeshi was glad that he got to hear Yuuri’s voice. _Just this once._

Meanwhile in the audience, Minami and Seung-Gil still hadn’t introduced themselves, but they enjoyed a nice dinner and Seung-Gil snapped pictures while Minami enjoyed some ice cream under a starry sky. Back in their respective seats, Minami browsed through the GDC program and squealed when he saw Yuuri’s name. Hand shaking from recording for two hours straight, Minami pressed the familiar record button and pointed his camera towards the stage wing so that he could capture Yuuri walking across the stage.

Seung-Gil blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Recording, can’t you tell?” Tongue sticking out, Minami angled his phone just right when he heard footsteps approaching the stage. Emerging from the wing was the full-suit Nishigori Takeshi, dressed in his black and white. The omega stole a glance towards the audience, and Minami zoomed in on the pianist’s face to catch the exact moment where the omega regretted his life’s choices. _“He’s so brave,”_ Minami whispered. _“I heard this is his first time in the GDC.”_

Seung-Gil leaned forward in his seat, intrigued.

A few seconds of silence. Where was Yuuri? Minami sat as straight as he could, peering to the wing where Yuuri should’ve emerged from. Suddenly, another set of footsteps approached the stage. Heavy footsteps. Seung-Gil heard the scratches of Minami’s fingers when they dug into his seat’s armrest.

A solitary, open-toed heel stepped into the spotlight. A comfortable shoe with a very low heel on the back. A brace of sorts crept up from the shoe and anchored around Yuuri’s ankle as one shoe became two. One step after the other. The swish of hips as a tickling hem moved with the beta’s feet. A sheer black fabric hiding but showing his legs at the same time with the easy but brisk walk that Yuuri took. A thicker black garment flowing from Yuuri’s collar and down to his mid-thigh. Highlights of a darker black blending into the loose yet comfy black fabric that gave off the idea of _Passionate Love, Eros._ A red sash of sorts loosely tied over Yuuri’s waist, partially covering a bit of his viola because he held the dear instrument close to his side.

Time stood still. Stunned was not an appropriate word to describe the audience, the judges, and the fellow musicians watching from the stage wing. Yuuri wasn’t one to typically stand out like this, but he didn’t want to dull a surprise. This outfit was an extension of him, and it took a lot of bargaining on Yuuri’s part to convince Takeshi to bring the dress and shoes all the way here. Yuuri only hoped that Mari didn’t mind that he raided her closet for this one.

“Takeshi Nishigori and Yuuri Katsuki will be performing _‘In Regards to Love: Eros’_ by Umebayashi Taro. Please hold off applause until the performance has ended.”

Quick silence. Yuuri looked to Takeshi. Takeshi looked to Yuuri. Yuuri did not prop his viola onto his shoulder. His bow and instrument stayed by his side. Keeping his face towards the audience, Yuuri glanced to the side as Takeshi counted off with his hand before--

The low drums of the bass notes as they climbed towards the treble bridge like a smooth and fluid guitar. Yuuri moved his arms in-sync to the piano’s rhythm, swishing the sheer fabric of his dress to the side with a swift kick of a heel. The rattles of the piano as Takeshi climaxed before trickling off into silence. A quick wink and kiss before Yuuri’s fingers shot up the viola’s bridge for the dance.

The audience gasped.

Moving in time with the rhythm, Yuuri’s viola treated this song like any other waltz. A sweet but fast vibrato while Takeshi pounced from one end of the piano to the other. The swish and sway of Yuuri’s dress as the violist spun and danced through the intricate solo-tango that was entirely his own. Steady eyes on Takeshi for reference, Yuuri let himself go. Fancy footwear could only go so far, but Yuuri kept the audience engaged. The pull of his bow, the fiery crack of his heels as they tapped off the stage in time with the exhilarating tango that rushed past Yuuri like a distant daydream.

The yearn of the viola as the A-string was stretched to its utmost limit while Yuuri and Takeshi fought for speed. The quick thunder of the black and white keys. Takeshi closed his eyes for just a moment. _Remember how Viktor played it._ Onto the sudden climb, Takeshi plowed his fingers up the treble bridge with fury, and Yuuri grabbed where Takeshi left off and his viola swung the song to her favor.

 _Light feet. Remember the dance._ Though Yuuri’s arms were crossed and tied with the weight of the music, Yuuri’s feet were free and fleeting. Diving the violist into a splash of hazy memories that brought back a _certain_ drunken dance battle with an intoxicated pianist in his arms. Passion reached new heights with the banter of flirty gestures and touches that made the skin crave for more. Memories could only go so far, so Yuuri created his own.

Like the playboy in a passionate story, he threw away his past for something new. Like the femme fatale with the snap of her fan and the flutter of her eyes, Yuuri created his own history from the broken fragments left behind.

But perhaps, Yuuri could’ve taken it easy. [ He could’ve slowed down and played a flirty banter between him and Takeshi. ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B7F6oGLRoVtPalNxY01GNmx4SEk/view?usp=sharing) Perhaps make a great show of a dance choreography that he had been developing for months for just this occasion. Breathe softly while the world revolved around him, and him alone. Feel the attention carving into your flesh as your eyes refused to look away, afraid that the violist will turn away and leave. Never to come back, like he did with Viktor not so long ago. Yuuri played to the masses and reeled in the desire and want for the magic to last forever.

But alas, passion was a fleeting moment that one couldn’t catch with their hands. One couldn’t wait either. Instead, you had to get up, run, and chase it down while it was still within your grasp before it slipped away forever. That was passion, but Yuuri was merely wearing the mask during this performance. To be a man of passion meant a lot of sacrifices, and to sacrifice now was a rather dire thing to do. To sacrifice now meant giving yourself away in the heat of the moment, but Yuuri wasn’t that easy. That wasn’t how he showed his Love.

If he was honest with himself, Yuuri would agree that he had been running a game of chase for all of eternity before a sudden ferocity of strings cloaked a legendary pianist that came under Yuuri’s wings. Hand in hand, a tango turned into a simple, playful dance that sparked with _Ludus_ and playful taunts as both musicians couldn’t exactly leave, but they _could_ leave. If they wanted to. This game of chase wasn’t going to last forever, and they were both well-aware. One could let go and ditch the other forever, while the other would cling to the broken fragments that held a Love together.

Did passion equate to Love? Or, was passion just a fleeting moment that could transition to Love? Yuuri knew his answer, and Yuuri knew Viktor’s answer. He didn’t know how much time he had left before dropping this game. He didn’t know how long Viktor will care to be by his side before picking up the shattered pieces of his and Yuuri’s Love. Yuuri simply didn’t know, but he did _know_ that this feeling he had for Viktor was more than just a fleeting phase in Life’s busy game.

He knew that deep down, Viktor was more than _just_ an idol or _just_ a man to play a duet with someday. Deep down, Yuuri was scared. Passion was a double-edged sword. Stab once, you could stab yourself by accident. Stab twice, you pierced your Love against another’s and watched the blood run down the middle to beat as one. Yuuri knew his answer, and he knew Viktor’s answer.

_Never once, in all these years, has Viktor failed to surprise me._

A sharp jab of the last note from the viola and piano. The audience exploded into cheer. Yuuri panted, but he still waited for Takeshi to jog to his side before bowing low. Flashing lights from cameras and recording phones. Actual cheers and whistles erupting from the rows. Yuuri was too out of breath to count all the awe-struck faces in the front row. It was too hard to breathe. Takeshi patted Yuuri’s back and helped the beta stand up straight so that he could breathe easier. It was still too hard to breathe. Yuuri signed that his lungs were on fire. Takeshi carried Yuuri swiftly offstage and helped loosen the front of Mari’s dress so that Yuuri’s lungs could expand more.

The beta stared down at his feet and watched them fade into darkness. For a moment, _for just a moment,_ Yuuri wanted someone to catch him. Someone did. Catching the falling beta by the shoulder, he peered at Yuuri’s face and saw that the violist was unconscious. No, Yuuri was simply fast asleep. Too tried to open his eyes, but his chest rose and fell too quickly for comfort.

“It’s probably too stuffy in here,” Takeshi told him. “With all the heats and different scents and all. I can carry him outside.”

“You do that, Takeshi,” Chris purred, polishing his lovely saxophone one last time. A congratulatory pat on the back for the pianist before Chris basked under the spotlight. Yet another stage to stand upon while the world looked up from your feet. An angle and distance separating you from their reality as you polished your own. Chris batted his eyelashes and waved at the audience while the announcer introduced him and the piece he was about to perform.

The tough leather of Chris’ saxophone strap burned his skin, but the omega wasn’t that sensitive. A simple pop of the collar and the skin wasn’t irritated anymore. Just a burning light from above with rays bouncing off the brass of his instrument. Playfully running his finger down the keys, Chris eyed the crowd for a certain someone. Perhaps the dusty brown locks were hidden in the back of the concert hall, or maybe the dear love and friend was waiting by the stage wing. Concealed behind the velvet curtains. Playing a game of Hide and Seek.

Chris smiled. [ He was getting too old to play such a childish game on a night like this, but that wasn’t to say that Chris was old. ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B4TpCgU2BwQnd1hBckZReHpGM1E/view?usp=sharing) No, in his heart, Chris was still the little boy who enjoyed prying an olive from a toothpick as he watched the great saxophonists sing with their soul on a foggy stage. Taking a deep breath, Chris touched the saxophone’s mouthpiece and began to play. Something soulful for a night much like this, something _domestic_ for a night like this.

A slow kind of sexual crave that started with light touches on the shoulder or neck while kisses crept down the lips, down the neck, across the chest, and even lower than that. A swirling caress migrating down from tangled hair and to the base of a lover’s back. Lustful eyes blacked out and devoured the other in the heat of the night.

Chris had to give Yuuri and Takeshi credit. Their frantic passion for love was _endearing_ and quite cute in Chris’ eyes. There was no denying that the viola and piano duo knew Love, and their passion for love reminded Chris of a forgotten feeling he had once felt a long time ago.

But here Chris was, picking up where his friends ended and diving deeper into a kind of Love that they wouldn’t understand. Perhaps, Takeshi understood because he was mated and married. Perhaps, Yuuri was still juvenile in the ways of Love because of his innocence and general avoidance of anything too overly emotional.

Chris rolled his eyes as he rocked back and forth, slowly. The clear resonance of his saxophone touched a certain kind of individual. Even if one wasn’t responsive to a mature kind of Love just yet, they could still relate to the deep feelings that clouded over their eyes whenever they saw the Love of their Life. That _Love_ that made them wonder how someone so flawed but perfect was here, with them on a day and a night like this. Was it Mature Love? Well, Chris didn’t like giving labels, but that was indeed the Love he was striving for.

Even if the _youngbloods_ didn’t recognize it at first, they would definitely feel a stir and tremble deep within their hearts because it was something they had never experienced before. Chris wasn’t the best guide down that road but if someone felt closer to their Lover because of this performance, that gave Chris more joy than he could ever express. He couldn’t describe the feeling that throbbed in his arteries and ached in his veins. He couldn’t describe the sweat over his palms and the sudden shy facade that slipped over Chris’ face when he spotted a familiar set of hazel eyes watching him in the audience.

Suddenly a novice in the way of Love, Chris hiccuped a rhythm in his piece but came back as quickly as he fell. _Darn this organ of mine._ Closing himself just a bit, Chris reeled his attention towards his saxophone and imagined his instrument’s keys as the soft skin of his Lover. Suddenly, Chris was touching the keys softer than he usually did, and his eyes flickered back and forth from the keys to the audience to make sure that the audience was comfortable with the direction he was taking. Nothing too fast and scary for a first time, but have both parties feel comfortable with one another before a step can be taken further.

Consent was key to everything, and Chris made sure that the audience was ready before a sudden flurry of notes and rhythms crept out of the saxophone when Chris hit the climax. Raining lines of triplets and grace notes piled down in never-ending streams. The passion and yearn of the song reached its breaking point as loud and soft phrases mingled back and forth like Lovers swinging each other in a heated dance. A slow crawl before the romantic jazz of the night slipped off his mask and kissed his Lover goodnight.

A quick piece. Chris felt that he could’ve done more to make the piece more memorable, but the audience enjoyed the piece immensely. Panting, Chris blew kisses into the crowd and he watched his Lover tilt his head like _“Really, Chris?”_ But nonetheless, the man was proud of his mate and he returned a kiss back to his fiance. Chris caught it with his hands and slipped the kiss down his shirt before giving a worthwhile wink and bow. A silver chain slid from his shirt, revealing a delicate chain with a pearly golden ring hovering over the stage.

Chris’ Lover clapped nonetheless when some people stopped to stare at the shining ring before Chris hid it back under his shirt. _Always one to slip a surprise._ Even so, the matching engagement ring was beating away against a tender, loving heart.

Backstage, Viktor chuckled under his breath while Chris hyped up the audience for the rest of the night. That was Chris’ magic, and it made Viktor fall into deeper appreciation that Chris was his dear rival and friend. When the omega returned from the stage, the two old friends bumped each other’s fists and Viktor threw Chris a towel.

Keep in mind that Chris was an omega in heat and standing under a hot spotlight wasn’t going to make the saxophonist feel any better. Leaning onto Viktor’s shoulder for support, the two took five steps before Chris mumbled,

“Did you know that Yuuri passed out?”

Viktor walked slowly for Chris’ sake, but his bangs hid his eyes from the light. Chris could only imagine what was going through the alpha’s head at this moment. Viktor never had someone that he wanted to protect before. The usual security instincts that were supposed to be ingrained into Viktor’s being were nonexistent for the most part. He didn’t need them, or perhaps, the alpha was never in a relationship where he needed those instincts in the first place.

“Yuuri’s okay,” Chris said, hoping to ease the clockwork tension whirling in Viktor’s mind. “Most likely tired than anything else, but his friend carried him outside for fresh air. He was having trouble breathing.” Which reminded Chris, there was something _urgent_ he had to tell Viktor but the alpha was lost in his own thoughts. _Not right now. Not when he’s busy worrying about someone else._ So, Chris kept the news buried deep inside for the time being.

Viktor eventually snapped out from his thoughts and asked Chris if he needed some water. Chris merely shook his head and hugged his saxophone like a child with a stuffed bull. A brief chat through glances. Chris felt Viktor’s appreciation and that was more than enough praise for the omega to handle. He merely bowed his head and stayed in his spot while watching a hurried soloist _run_ onto the stage for their performance. _Looks like someone had fun._ Chris raised an eyebrow when the soloist came back because her tie had come undone when she ran.

Transitioning-wise, the evening performances were fewer in number and not as dramatic as many of the afternoon ones. The judges weren’t surprised. It was so easy to get caught up with everything everyone else was doing that you didn’t pay attention to yourself. It wasn’t hard, but it wasn’t easy to escape when a sudden lull had you over. Shackled in chains and held to a standard that you couldn’t achieve, this was the performance life that you were left to lead until a force broke the chains and you were free again.

That was the case of the very last performance of the night. The GDC Part One for the _Theme of Love_ was nearing the end. Three hours for the afternoon, and two for the evening. By now, most of the audience was antsy and ready to tuck away their programs, sleep somewhere, and come back tomorrow to hear the “more fun” performances. Backstage, many musicians had already packed up and a great plenty were trooping into the audience area to watch the last performance before leaving for the night.

Yuuri and Takeshi had returned, and Yuuri sipped orange juice through a bendy straw while Takeshi carried his viola case. The case took care to beat the doozy out of Takeshi’s knee cap, but the omega simply gritted his teeth and reminded himself that five minutes later, he’ll be free. The comedic trio of Mila, Georgi, and Yuri were chilling somewhere in the audience, but it was painfully easy to make-out Mila’s fiery hair, Yuri’s fiery personality, and Georgi’s fiery tears when he accidentally stabbed his eye with an eyelash curler.

Guanghong and Leo were meeting up with a few international fans that caught them, and Guanghong did his best peace-sign while Leo kept a humble smile during all the selfies. Phichit managed to find the duo and photo-bombed one of the selfies while he glomped his favorite vocalist and his favorite violinist in the whole wide world.

Alright, Leo wasn’t a _Beyonce_ but he was the most respected vocalist that Phichit knew. And ultimately, that made Leo a _Beyonce_ in Phichit’s eyes. Guanghong squeaked if Phichit could get off, and Leo mumbled that he wouldn’t cover a _Beyonce_ song if Phichit kept glomping them. Hurt and bribed, Phichit kept a healthy distance but joined in on the selfie-taking. Naturally, of course.

Viktor looked around for Otabek, and a heart-shaped smile tugged his mouth when he saw the reclusive omega approach the Russian Comedic Trio. Georgi welcomed Otabek with open arms, and Mila offered what looked like a box of bandages. What was Yuri’s reaction? The blonde was naturally suspicious, but Viktor noticed a tinge of red creep up the youth’s neck when he told Otabek that his playing was... _really good, damn._

“Little Yuri is making a friend,” Viktor whispered to himself. _“That’s cute~”_ Twirling an edge of his hair, Viktor’s eyes followed an awkward Chris as the omega met up with his Lover and the two nuzzled each other’s cheeks like usual before taking a seat in the audience for the last performance. Viktor’s eyes lit up when he met Chris’ gaze, and the two musicians happily bantered back and forth through sly glances before Chris had to end the chat because he wanted to snuggle his Lover’s arm.

Speaking of snuggling, Michele was definitely snuggling his sister’s arm while he snoozed in the back. Worn out and tired from a long, long day. Emil and Sara took as many selfies as they could with Michele’s sleeping form since the Italian was quick and stubborn to not let his appearance be captured by the faulty eyes of a phone camera.

With that, everyone was accounted for. Except for one pair that Viktor knew about, but only in passing. A vocalist and pianist duo that could flip-flop between both instruments like nobody’s business. A duo that hailed from the great winters of Montreal, Canada. With the red maple leaf stitched over their winter coats and beanies while performing out on the streets to bring music closer to the daily walk of everyone’s life. A duo that was famous because one was an omega, _through and through,_ and the other was a beta, _a respectable young woman born and raised in an all-omega household._ It was sensational, it was huge, and Viktor only knew half of the duo by name.

Isabella Yang, Viktor met earlier this week when she helped fight in Yuuri’s defense when he succumbed to his inner thoughts and attacked. A wonderful young woman who had a voice to match. Though she was quick with her wit and quite feisty and moody, she held the patience of a saint for the sake of her fiance and mate. The other half of the equation... _Who was the man’s name?_

“Jean Jacques Leroy and Isabella Yang will be performing [_‘Stitches’_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uiG_qXMDgo&index=4&list=LL1ay1IwgbQtTRLBi3jBftDw) by Shawn Mendes. Please hold off applause until the performance has ended.”

Viktor leaned against a wall and looked onto the stage as a proud young beta and her supportive mate strutted to their spots. Ah yes, the omega in the pair was the infamous “JJ Leroy”, the omega with the big ego. An ego as big as the compassion and warmth bottled in his heart. JJ may’ve been annoying to Viktor in the past for one reason or another, but even he couldn’t deny that the Montreal punk had great skills as a mate and musician.

Before resting behind the piano, JJ planted a firm kiss over Isabella’s hand like a gentleman, and the shine from their engagement rings winked at Viktor like a sign. Words lost in his throat, Viktor held back whatever thoughts he had on the duo and paid attention to the performance when Isabella began to sing with the lull of black and white keys.

The French cover of the pop song came out like a breeze, and Isabella embodied the heart and soul of a heartbroken individual, wondering why her Lover was hurting himself again and again for another that didn’t truly Love him back. Leaning into the piano, JJ carried a solemn look as the red of his outfit faded into the background like a fallen petal off a rose. Isabella’s black dress contrasted against the bleeding red that painted the background as her voice grew stronger with the pain screeched her strings.

Nobody deserved to be in a loveless relationship. No one deserved to carry a scar from a Lover because of a misunderstanding or the hot brand of a knife that ran down the heart because of painful, unkept words. As if thorns and roots erupted over the stage, Isabella found herself trapped in a dark and lonely maze that she only knew from angry memories. Towering bush walls cloaking the light from her eyes as she tripped and stumbled through this lonely maze on her own. JJ was nowhere in sight. No family, no loved ones, no friends, and Isabella couldn’t hear her own voice in the maze.

Gone with the wind.

Back in this cold and darkness, Isabella ran through the maze. Desperate to beat its game. Bumping into dead-ends and paths leading to nowhere, Isabella clawed her way through the turmoil and rash memories that had her pinned in certain spots of the maze. Bad memories from strangers who didn’t know better. Bad memories from those who failed to accept her for the individual that she was. Bad memories of a twin pair of scars that never healed over her skin. The scars grew the longer she stayed in the maze, but they stopped when she felt a gentle kiss over the back of her hand.

A pair of adorable bright eyes emerging from the mist as JJ held Isabella’s hand and whispered the sweet words that she couldn’t tell herself.

_“I can’t imagine a world without your enthusiasm, your smile, and the way you color people’s lives with your songs.”_

Like some fairytale, the maze of thorns and bushes wilted away as blossoming flowers took their place and Isabella, _honest to God,_ cried.

Perhaps, the song of _‘Stitches’_ was about a loved one that caused you harm in some way, shape, or form. Maybe, it was the twisted image that every individual had of themselves. That one spectre and voice that told you that you didn’t amount to anything, no matter how hard you tried. Perhaps the person that needed to leave was the spectre in your head that forced you to be at the lowest point in your life. [ No one was a superhero, but you _were_ someone’s hero when you told someone the words that they couldn’t tell to themselves. ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B4TpCgU2BwQnVThBOUwwYWxKTTQ/view) That was Isabella’s life in a few words and metaphors.

Life wasn’t pretty. She had to come to terms with that belief ever since she presented as a beta when she was dating JJ. Through the hormonal imbalances, the moments of weakness where her inner omega told her to sob and fall down so that someone could pay attention to her, JJ came to support Isabella in anyway that he could. Whether it was scenting her cheeks so that she could laugh, or holding her hand while watching a movie or walking in public, or just the long chats on the phone at night when Isabella woke up in tears and called JJ so that he could listen. Even when he was tired and had projects to do, JJ didn’t go back to sleep until Isabella felt well enough to go back to sleep too.

But, JJ had his own issues and anxieties and voices that dragged him down in more ways than one. Falling from grace as pressure mounted over his head. Two parents who were directors for the _Montreal Brass and Woodwinds_ , little brother and sister who took up piano lessons so that they could play a trio-piece with their older brother, and a family full with music fanatics and admirers that held JJ up to a certain degree. Majoring in Music Theory and studying the great contemporary works and techniques of rising musicians in the international community. Journeying abroad in France to reunite with French roots and feel the wind course by his skin for inspiration.

It all became too much for JJ. Music sheet littering and trailing from his bed over a breakdown. Clutching his head, JJ felt a hammer slam a nail through his brain. Splitting headaches down to Memory Lane. Fragile hands that didn’t want to touch the piano. Hidden under a nest full of blankets, covered with his own scent. Barely going outside and experiencing heats on his own because he didn’t want anyone to get close to him.

But even if JJ pushed everyone away, Isabella and JJ’s family pulled themselves closer to JJ’s circle to embrace him and to tell him that it was okay to fall. Find the strength to stand back up again. JJ didn’t know if he could smile again. He thought he lost his smile until Isabella poked his dimples and forced them up to fake some sort of smile. Mostly, she poked JJ’s cheeks and helped make sure that he was properly hydrated during his sulking and hiding.

One day, JJ poked his head out from under his blanket nest and saw Isabella posing in front of his mirror.

_“Isabella?”_

The beta spun on the tip of her heels and helped up hand signs. She crossed her arms for the added effect, left hand holding up her index finger. Right hand doing the peace-sign.

_“No need to fear! It’s Isabella Yang-style!”_

JJ laughed for the first time in a long time. Isabella lowered her hand signs and mumbled that she probably looked lame, but JJ wiped away his tears and said that Isabella looked really cool.

 _“Nothing can beat ‘It’s JJ-style!’, but I really liked that. Thank you!”_ And JJ did his signature move and Isabella clapped and said that her mate looked cooler. With time, JJ did grow stronger and he left his nest behind to pursue the music realm again. He wasn’t strong on his own but with his family and Isabella’s Love and support, JJ felt that he could do anything. He didn’t have to work alone anymore, and that brought more smiles to his days than ever before.

With the performance of _‘Stitches’_ done, the GDC was concluded for the night. A huge welcoming applause from everyone to everyone, and JJ leapt into Isabella’s arms and the two hugged and nuzzled close to one another, sealing their experience into their memories for forever.

Love was a complex theme. Love could mean not giving up and never letting someone down. Love could mean friendship and affections. Love could symbolize adventure and a new experiences that enriched your life. Love was the feather on Freedom’s Wings that allowed people to follow their dreams and to not hold back. Love was protection and care against the harshest elements of Life. Love was the passionate kite runner that either disappeared in an instant or lasted forever. Love was being close to someone and sharing your imperfections and flaws without a judgmental glance. Love was the beating heart that helped heal a stitched heart when it didn’t believe in itself.

[ _In Regards to Life, that was Love._ ](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B7F6oGLRoVtPY3Z0cXdTN000STg/view?usp=sharing)

* * *

 

[Joey's [aka, HQ_Wingster's, Paralysis](https://mvjoey.tumblr.com/post/160105126205/joeys-paralysis)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it. My last update until school’s over in a month. I can’t wait for that. My personal favorite performance to write about was Isabella and JJ’s because I related to that kind of Love so much, and JJ is kind of like me, even though people say that I’m more like Yuuri. Like JJ, I have a cocky attitude with an ego problem if not kept in check, but I feel pressured by the expectations that people have about me that I created a twisted version of those around me and I fall, miserably and don’t know when to get back up.
> 
> But as I met more people who talked to me, listened to me, and gave the chants and encouragements when I needed it the most, I rose from the ashes much like JJ and this hobby my own signature-style~!
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> But, can I be a little personal with y’all? I know some peeps don’t like overly personal messages so you can skip this if you want. For those who do want to read, I want to begin this by thanking each and everyone of y’all. For supporting me, for popping up onto my Tumblr to send encouraging messages when I was down for the past few weeks, and for motivating to keep going with this story. I honestly started this fic off as mini project for myself that I didn’t think would go anywhere.
> 
> Look now. This fic has been an emotional roller coaster for me. Especially since I’m finding my love for music again, and I’m so grateful that I’ve helped some of you find that love for music again. It’s been an honor working on this story. But, I’m afraid. I’m afraid that my journey might be cut /drastically/ short.
> 
> A lot of you don’t know this, but I have recurring back problems. Go to chiropractor, do morning/evening stretches, balanced diet, and strive to be active and not overwork my back. During Christmas Week for the final episode, I was in the hospital. Anticipating a surgery to correct a ruptured disk in my back.
> 
> Since then, I’ve gotten better but I’m still pretty bad. For the past few months, the paralysis in my arms and legs has severely begun to hinder my health and mobility. 
> 
> At the end of May, I’m having another surgery to hopefully “fix” these mobility problems that I’ve been having. The 15% chance that the surgery ends up failing, I’ll potentially be paralyzed for the rest of my life. If that happens, I won’t be able to continue this fic anymore. I mean, there are ways to type out a story besides using your fingers, but updates will take so long that I don’t know if it’ll be worth it.
> 
> So if by the off chance that things don’t turn out smoothly, I’ll try to send an author’s note to alert y’all and I’ll decide what happens with this story.
> 
> If that 85% chance that the surgery is successful, y’all will receive a beautiful chapter and I will be plowing through. Full steam ahead.
> 
> It was a pleasure to get to know you all one last time before I go. Thank you for commenting, kudosing, sharing, reading, and loving this work.
> 
> I love you. I love you all so, so much.


	15. Holding You - Filler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gave Viktor a hard, long look. The alpha didn’t need another person to revere him as an idol, or someone to look up to, or someone to take charge in a situation. Viktor needed a comforting voice that told him that it was okay to be childish, to smile big with high dimples, and to be truly himself without a constant camera pressed against his face. Was Yuuri the answer? Chris didn’t know, but the violist was a miracle in his own small ways. Right now, Chris did believe in miracles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emergency trip to the hospital because I threw my back out! By the time you read this, I’m already in the hospital. Just wanted to upload this real quick. You can either view this chapter as a “filler” because it’s been awhile since my last update, or you can view this as canon for the rest of the story. I don’t know. I just wanted to type something. I miss you a lot.
> 
> I want to experiment with a new writing-style. Then again, you have seen my writing-style evolve since chapter 1. In the beginning, it had a “detached” feel that was aided by commentary by a sassy narrator, and that’s perhaps my favorite style to start a story off with. Gradually, the style became more detailed, flowing, and chocked full of literary and figurative techniques. Chapters slowly got longer and then suddenly shorter, and then longer again.
> 
> The biggest was in the chapter openings. I try to keep openings different from chapter to chapter. Opening up a chapter with the same technique makes it feel like a formula, and it’s not exciting to read anymore. It feels cheap but sometimes, I do open chapters up in the same way. Mostly it’s in the form of a flashback or I describe something in high-definition detail that has nothing to do with the rest of the story. Usually.
> 
> Or perhaps, I drag on and on with some little thing and you’re just: “Joey, I know what’s happening. MOVE ON.” You don’t say it most of the time, but I have that feeling. So, I want to try something new.
> 
> I’ll talk to you soon when I’m discharged from the hospital. When I comment, I’ll update on my condition. Oh, my manners! Thank you for subscribing, liking, commenting, and enjoying this omegaverse project. It’s been an emotional ride for everyone involved, including you and I. It’s been an adventure that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Not even gold or silver can compare to meeting you.

_In old fairytales one was familiar with the prince and princess. The princess, a maiden hidden from view up in a lofty tower or under a disguise unknown by anyone. The prince about to be newly-wed but snuck out in the darkness in secret to encounter the Love of his Life. Two roads converging at a central point where the princess was the setting east while the prince was the rising west._

_No fairytale was meant to copy the other, but perhaps this Cinderella story deserves a twist in its retelling. The princess traded a mop for a piano while a flowing tie and suit replaced a sturdy gown. The prince traded one sense for another, a crown of thorns muffling his ears while a viola grew from his wrist and a bow in the other hand._

_On that crossroad, two lives intertwined by a red string struck gold as one hand touched the other. Panning overhead for the pianist, a broken family and another broken heart were the shattered fragments that clung to his heels on his journey to greatness. Moist blood leaving behind a path for a demon to follow, cackling from behind and clinging to the despair blowing tenderly off of the pianist._

_**I have to get better. I have to be stronger.** Nimble fingers running down wooden keys soon became the faithful cage that sealed the light away. Darkness at the tender age of thirteen. But wait, who was peeling back the cage bars? A kiss of sunlight hit the pianist for the first time in his Life, and he saw dark eyes peer from the crack as a curious nose poked in first, before a face, before a hand, and before a little boy with a viola at his side. _

_An imp of a creature with crooked glasses and bandages wrapped around his little fingers. You didn’t have to be royalty to be someone’s escape. A flourish of white doves erupted from the wooden cage as the pianist and violist broke free. Striking the sunlight with music and a laughter that dipped and colored a black and white Life into something new. With the stroke of a paintbrush, blues became true blues and this warmth over the pianist’s hand was real._

_Music was the real angel and the violist was merely the guardian acting upon it, but he used the colors to paint his path and to find where his destiny laid. Not in towering forests streamed with gold and silver. Not under a river with sapphires and cold hues. Not up in the air where dreams could go anywhere in this fairytale. Maybe if the violist stopped and pretended to listen, he would’ve known that the pianist was gone. Because the pianist was strong enough to forge his own path, and the crossroad disappeared._

_Encountering again and again through time and history. On flickering television screens or the imposing lights across screens, never once did they cease to surprise the other. A piano concerto on one hand, a dancing star that worked with a paintbrush on the other. Technique vs. a performer. A silver lining waiting to meet its golden thread one day, to unite and grow strong as a fine string for a tuning piano or for a magnificent viola._

_Enamored by a sashaying dance that brought hands together and feet closer in mind, tangled and lost in the other’s eyes as one gave a faithful bite when the other was about to die. Disappearing in the wake of memories, the pianist woke up with a sweet reminder, but without a clue as to where to start the journey up again. Violist soaring on painted wings, perhaps believing it was best to not take faith in this fairytale._

_Encounter once, encountered twice, encountering thrice was the way to go because one hand held the other in rhythm and time. One hand comforting the other under a swinging flashlight while a bloody wound was bounded tight. To stay or to not stay, that was the question? Was this truly Love? Was this the Love that only came in fairytales?_

_It couldn’t be. Did the pianist love back or was he simply captured by the thrill and adrenaline that coursed through his veins when he saw the violist. Deep down, did he really love the violist, or was the string player simply a good fling to numb the past twenty years of pain that clenched the pianist’s chest._

_For the violist, he knew these good feelings wouldn’t last forever. He knew from the start that the pianist would never Love him back. The smiles, the gentle caresses, and the soft hugs were just preparation before being thrown away. The violist knew that his time was coming, that the pianist wouldn’t want or need him anymore. The violist would go back to admiring from afar and shouldering the broken memories that never ceased to exist._

_Arguments. Thrown spears that broke the other’s heart from forced out lies and denials that were never true, but they had to be done. Broken hearts crumbled while tears streamed down one’s face while blood and bruises painted the other from a gang-up in the restroom. Bruised body with blood coughing up into the mouth as the shattered tried to look at the audience for support before blanking out forever._

_Why must humans hurt themselves? Why must they hurt each other because of society’s ways and society’s beliefs? If they Loved each other, why did they have to pretend to hate each other? It tore them from the inside-out and caused more pain that either should experience. But I guess when one character finally dropped the act and went out to comfort the other with silence and warmth, it was a sign that the good feelings and memories didn’t have to end so soon._

_Maybe they leaned on each other too much, but it didn’t mean that they couldn’t start over and be each other’s support again._

* * *

 

Australian looked better under a blanket of stars. The red hot skillet cooled in the darkness, and Viktor leaned against the railing on a hotel’s roof. Wind whipping through his hair. A bottle of pop loosely buckled under his fingers as he took a sip. He should be asleep. Should be in Room 609 with Takeshi, Otabek and...Viktor placed his drink down when he heard a door open and close behind him. Even in the darkness, Viktor could make out Chris and the glare of the man’s glasses.

A bottle of liquor in the saxophonist’s hand? Viktor furrowed his brow, but one whiff told him that he didn’t need to worry. It was a weak drink, but why did Chris have it on hand? No matter, the Swiss man drank about a third of the bottle when he leaned next to Viktor. Admiring the view and all the cars and lights that transformed Sydney into a fairytale.

Chris shook his bottle. The liquor swished around like an old burp. “Want a sip?”

Viktor didn’t hide his small smile. Resting his chin over his knuckles, Viktor grinned with his eyes as he reached out to push the bottle back to his companion. “Chris, it’s almost midnight.”

Even so, Chris pushed the bottle towards Viktor. “ _So?”_ The saxophonist was definitely up to something. Viktor could feel it. The weak cheshire grin sloppily held over Chris’ lips was a definite sign, but it wouldn’t hurt to humor the the omega for a little longer. After all, Viktor knew that he would have to carry Chris back to his hotel room before his mate got worried.

“If it’s midnight, it means you should be asleep.” Playfully poking Chris’ nose, Viktor pressed his lips over Chris’ bottle and tipped the bottle forward for a small sip. Just what Viktor suspected. It was a weak drink after all, but Chris glowed like a candle on Christmas Eve.

Chris wiggled his eyebrows with the click of his tongue. “Shouldn’t you be asleep too, Hot Shot?” Chris fumbled. Viktor scooted over so that the saxophonist could fall softly over his shoulder. Puffing out a sigh, Chris rubbed his cheek over Viktor and the alpha stayed still while the omega lovingly scented his friend. Chris was mated so his scent didn’t bother Viktor all that much, but Chris was also in heat and there was only so much Viktor could handle before a familiar alpha instinct told him to claim the saxophonist for himself. Viktor squashed the instinct in a heartbeat.

He didn’t need instincts to get in the way now. Not with an omega in heat right next to him. Not with a troubled heart while he drank pop to relieve the pressure from his chest. Viktor gently motivated Chris to stand up properly, and Chris followed the gentle pats without a fight and tipped more alcohol into his mouth in the process. Pursing his lips, Viktor held the bottle back before Chris got a proper drink.

“ _Okay_ , I think you had too much to drink.” Prying the bottle out from Chris’ grip was no use. A light bulb flickered over Viktor’s head and a familiar heart-shape mouth took over his _brotherly_ instincts. “Let’s get you back to your mate before something really bad happens.”

“He can wait a little longer!” Chris batted away Viktor’s helping hands. “I just wanna be with my buddy.” Once again, Chris was back on Viktor’s shoulder, and the omega found his inner peace. Viktor just had to stand still and wait for his friend to sober up to reasoning. But with this sudden dip in their friendship, Viktor felt okay to scratch behind Chris’ ear and to ruffle the omega’s head. All good stuff that meant no harm. Just small gestures to lull Chris to sleep so that he was easier to deal with later.

Viktor’s eyes took a dip into the shadows as a sly glint came over his vision. While Chris was like this…

“Chris, are you asleep yet?” Viktor lifted his shoulder and Chris whined. That was a good enough answer. “Can I ask you something?”

 _“If it’s about the bachelor party, it’ll be after the GDC,”_ Chris groaned, voice heavy with sleep. Viktor nuzzled closer to his friend to keep Chris warm. The omega appreciated it and purred against Viktor’s neck. _Okay, too close._ Viktor nudged Chris away, and the omega happily scooted away a bit before hugging Viktor’s right arm.

 _Just play along,_ Viktor told himself before he replied back, “Good to know, but I wasn’t going to ask that.”

_“What do you want to know?”_

It took a second before the words unclogged themselves from Viktor’s throat.

“Do you believe in Love at First Sight?”

Chris giggled. _“I’m a taken man, Viktor. But, I wouldn’t say ‘No’ to--”_

“Not what I meant,” Viktor muttered, keeping a close eye on his companion as Chris sunk lower and lower down his arm. “Allow me to rephrase the question. How did you know that your mate was truly your Love?”

Chris wrinkled his nose. _“It was so long ago, I barely remember.”_ Chris furrowed his brows as if he was trying to decipher what Viktor really meant. _“It’s kind of cliche to say that you know-the-know if the person makes you happy. Happiness is such a broad being that you really can’t measure it through one person. It’s everywhere, if you choose to notice it.”_

Viktor sighed as he petted Chris’ head. He already knew that he wasn’t going to get a clear answer from an obviously drunk Chris, but he didn’t think that the saxophonist would go around the bushes like this. Perhaps, the question was too broad. Maybe something _narrower_ can help.

“Okay, but what qualities do you like about your mate?”

 _“So many things. His smiles, the yummy eggs he cooks on Saturday mornings, he gives really good massages after practices, and I could go on forever but we’ll both be retired by the time I finish.”_ Chris laughed afterwards. _“What’s with the questions?”_

“Nothing in particular.” Viktor didn’t know it, but he was a horrible liar.

Chris lifted his head and saw the real answer reflected over Viktor’s good eye. The other eye hidden under a mop of bangs. Chris pushed the bangs to the side so that he could look at Viktor as equals.

_“Viktor Nikiforov, five-time winning champion of the GDC and one of the best contemporary pianists to boot. Why are you so worried about my Love Life when yours is just starting?”_

“I don’t _have_ a Life, Chris.” Viktor said it all with a straight face, but his eyes cheated and Chris gasped. Standing next to him wasn’t a great legend or a powerful individual with the world over his shoulders. Viktor was... _just_ Viktor, and he was cloaked in the rags that nobody could see. Running a hand through his hair, Viktor clicked his tongue and tried to find his words. “I don’t even know what Love is or how you go around to express it.” His throat tightened, but he had to press on. “I’ve lived my whole my existence without feeling it but now that’s it here, I don’t know how to keep it.”

_“Love isn’t something that you can just cage and feed bread crumbs to. You gotta let it go sometimes, let it flutter around and if you treat it nicely, it’ll always come back to hug you.”_

“I hate it when you’re drunk,” Viktor muttered. “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Dropping the giggly act, Chris pushed Viktor away with his fist and kept to himself as he drained the rest of his alcohol. _“This is about Yuuri. Isn’t it?”_

Viktor didn’t say anything and if the alpha wasn’t his friend, Chris would’ve smacked Viktor with all that he had. It was hard to remember that Viktor didn’t exactly live a normal life like everyone else in the GDC. It was hard to remember that Viktor was forced under certain expectations while growing up to be the pianist he was today. It was hard to remember that the proud alpha was once a crybaby who skyped Chris often when they were both teens.

Chris remembered those calls. He remembered seeing Viktor cut all his long hair off because he was too scared to do something else with the scissors. He remembered Viktor sighing and mumbling that he was scared of his Mom and wondered how his Dad was doing. At the time, Chris was Viktor’s rival and didn’t understand why the alpha needed to say all of this to him. But the young Chris caught himself when he thought those things and reminded his heart that Viktor was human, and humans needed Love and support.

Now in the present, times hadn’t changed one bit. Viktor was still the little noodle who needed support, and Chris had to remind Viktor that he _was_ Loved and that he _did_ have a Life. It was the same old routine since they were grubby teens, thrusted into a world that held certain expectations for the kind of people they should grow up to be.

Chris gave Viktor a hard, long look. The alpha didn’t need another person to revere him as an idol, or someone to look up to, or someone to take charge in a situation. Viktor needed a comforting voice that told him that it was okay to be childish, to smile big with high dimples, and to be truly himself without a constant camera pressed against his face. Was Yuuri the answer? Chris didn’t know, but the violist was a miracle in his own small ways. Right now, Chris did believe in miracles.

“Viktor, you’ve been in Love with Yuuri for a long time. Whether the man knows it or not.”

Viktor crushed his bottle of pop, fracturing the neck along its spine.

Chris pressed on, regardless, but he did loosen Viktor’s grip. “I think it’s really important that you don’t treat this Love as something that can be taken and thrown away. Yuuri is human too, and he knows how nasty humans can be. _But so do you,”_ he added, gently prying the fractured pop bottle out from Viktor’s grip.

“I can’t Love him back.”

“Bullshit, you’ve been trying to reconnect with Yuuri for almost a year.” Chris turned Viktor’s head so that the alpha would look at him. Viktor tore his attention elsewhere, but a low growl from Chris told the alpha to back down from this childish game. “Yuuri Loves you too. In here.” Chris pointed to his own heart. “He can’t deny the feelings he has towards you, and you’ve really let those feelings blossom since you took time to listen to him when nobody else could.”

“Chris, I can’t.” Viktor kept shaking his head like a broken record.

 _“Are you saying that because you want to lead Yuuri on, or are you just saying that because you know the world’s going to hate you both if words gets out?”_ Chris let Viktor go, not believing the man that stood before him. _This_ wasn’t Viktor Nikiforov. Not the one Chris knew. “If you’re willing enough to break Yuuri like that…” Chris’ voice trailed off, but Viktor knew what Chris wanted to say.

Viktor did Love Yuuri. So, so much. The violist splashed his world with more color than he ever thought he would see, and Viktor felt like he had someone to protect. Someone to hold close, someone to wake up to, and someone to talk to and listen to when words were the only solution left. He still didn’t know a lot about the violist, but Viktor was taking strides to learn more about sign language and he was able to sign _‘Good morning’_ and _‘Goodnight’_ to Yuuri when the violist woke up and before he went to sleep. He was taking strides to learn bits about Yuuri’s Life. Small steps. Yuuri was still shy to ask Viktor questions, but Viktor told himself to be ready because he was done running away.

But right now, Viktor thought about running away and leaving behind someone who made him feel like this. _For the first time in his Life._

Viktor clung to his friend. “I don’t know what to do, Chris. I’m going to lose him.”

Chris hiccuped and sighed. “The last theme for this year’s GDC is ‘Victory’. I know you’ll do something to make _this Love_ a _victory.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'll like to keep in touch, you can message me on my tumblr, [@mvjoey](https://mvjoey.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> If Tumblr seems like a hassle, I can create a Discord Chat for this omegaverse and we can just bounce off ideas~
> 
> ______________________________________________________  
> We'll be seeing more Chris and Viktor interactions, especially one-on-one talks for the next two chapters. Because Chris is the only person that Viktor trusts with these talks, but Chris has to get Viktor to realize that there isn't much time left for either of them.
> 
> And...You have no idea how long I've been waiting to add angst into this story. Look out! This "classy" story is gonna get gritty, and I'm going to write a fight scene in here because it speaks home to me.


	16. The Story of Us pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What builds us isn't necessarily our achievements but the individuals who've guided, supported, and cherished us along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In light of the mafia, deaths, betrayals, and other tragedies posted on this fandom tag, I’ve decided to upload something family friendly-ish
> 
> Instead of posting a really long chapter, I've decided to split this chapter into two parts. Part One is heavily emotional and family friendly. The second part [next week] will be more technical and detail orientated in playing styles and whatnot. Something I wanted to do so that y'all won't have a HUGE block to work out in one week.
> 
> Haha. You could say that this chapter is very "Disney" like with the fluffiness and joy and all the tooth-rotting happiness that makes you eat salt so that you're realistic again.

At the switch of a button, the little television turned on in the living room. Fried pirozhkis chilled by the window while Nikolai Plisetsky pulled off his morning apron and sank into his cushioned armchair. By his favorite spot next to the window, where the morning sun came in and heated his special nest. There wasn’t anything glamorous to it, except for leftover rosin and a fleece blanket that was about as old as his grandson. Folding the seventeen year old blanket across his lap, Nikolai turned up the volume on the TV. He caught sight of Yuri performance in the Sydney Opera House.

Camera panning up. The fury of Yuri’s bow chiseled note after note from his instrument. Georgi in the background, upholding dignity and reckless abandon throughout ‘ _ In Regards to Love: Agape’.  _ Holding his breath, Nikolai leaned forward to hear what the Russian news report had to say about the duo. With only a handful of screenshots and a ten second clip of their performance, Nikolai expected a beaming report but the news anchormen and women simply moved on and gushed over Russia’s Pride and Legacy,  _ Viktor Nikiforov. _

A heavy weight sagged Nikolai’s chest. He had nothing against the decorated pianist, but it sure looked like Viktor wanted a breather from the attention and fame. For one, he was in the background while his duet partner took the spotlight. A stoic individual by the name of  _ Otabek Altin.  _ The poor cellist, even though he was the one with the important “voice” in the piece, the anchormen and women cropped Otabek out of the picture and focused solely on Viktor.

Clicking his tongue, Nikolai turned his attention away from the television and snuggled close to Yuri’s old fleece blanket. In the stillness of that morning, Nikolai wondered how his grandson and his friends were doing. Were they eating well? Perhaps, he should send a care package with a few pirozhkis to lift up their spirits. Alas, Nikolai wasn’t sure if pirozhkis could be shipped overseas, and he knew that his grandson and his friends weren’t going to stay in Sydney for long. Traveling was going to happen soon.

_ “Many rumors have been circulating around Viktor Nikiforov since his arrival to Sydney, Australia. One of the most notable is that the pianist will be retiring after this season’s Global Division Concerts. However, there is an air of mystique surrounding Nikiforov’s motives for this season. Rumor has it, he’s searching for love and he is--” _

The anchorwoman’s voice was cut off. Nikolai turned off the television and basked in the perfect silence. Easing out of his seat, Nikolai shuffled into the kitchen and plated the cooled pirozhkis. Munching on one while he looked out the window, Nikolai could see a little Yuri rolling around in the snow that was sewn into his dusty memories.

It was hard to believe that the little boy who used to roll around in Russia’s sunflower fields was now standing on the World’s Stage with a dear friend and his double-bass. Rubbing his aching back, Nikolai returned to his armchair and curled under Yuri’s old blanket before snoozing for the rest of the morning. Nikolai simply wanted bask in his Yuri’s accomplishments. If the elderly omega couldn’t have that, he would just have to sleep and pretend that he was in Australia so that he could congratulate Yuri, himself.

Further along in Japan, Mari hid her blush behind a magazine when the news coverage for the GDC showcased Yuuri in a flowing midnight dress and heels. Three words:  _ He rocked it.  _ Mari would’ve appreciated it if Yuuri had asked before taking the outfit overseas. She wasn’t upset. Besides, Yuuri looked better in the outfit than her, so Mari was very willing to let her brother keep the dress and shoes. And maybe Mari didn’t understand all the music lingo that flashed throughout the news coverage, but she didn’t need to understand to know that all the participants were enjoying themselves. Especially Takeshi and Yuuri.

“Oh, Mari~”

Mari turned around, catching her mother crossing the room with a box of alcohol for the midnight patrons. Magazine rolling off her face, Mari got up and carried the box while Hiroko gave her thanks and rested near the television. The excitement splashed across her Yuuri’s face lifted Hiroko’s heart. Hiroko held back a chuckle when an Australian interviewer went around backstage, asking the musicians on why they chose to play their particular instrument. All the answers were definitely adorable, and Hiroko held her breath when the interviewer approached Takeshi and Yuuri.

_ “Why I chose the piano?”  _ The words fluttered out of Takeshi’s mouth like fledglings.  _ “The piano is a really rich instrument that can cover a wide range of things.”  _ Takeshi nodded quickly, mouth mumbling that he hoped that his mate wouldn’t see this. RIght on cue, his phone buzzed and the pianist chuckled, saying that his mate had a sixth sense for this sort of thing. Considering that the interview was at around nine p.m. in Australia, Yuuko had enough free time to browse through the channels to see her mate’s answer.

“Is that Yuuri?” Toshiya in all his friendly flair stumbled into the room with a mug of tea. Hair disheveled and glasses slipping off his nose. But a snuggly hug from his mate definitely woke Toshiya up. Straightening his glasses, a warm smile rode over his lips as the camera focused on Yuuri after Takeshi’s response.

A soft sigh escaped from the violist’s mouth. He licked his lips nervously, as if his answer was meant for a more private audience. Toshiya held Hiroko’s hand. Hiroko didn’t let go. Slowly, with an encouraging nod from Takeshi, Yuuri looked at the interviewer and spoke his mind.

_ “The viola was my first voice, and it has never failed me when I needed it the most.”  _ Those were the words that crept out from Yuuri’s lips. Hiroko squeezed her mate’s hand, and Toshiya leaned his good ear closer to the television. Yuuri didn’t say anymore and the interviewer hopped to another musician.

All the while, Toshiya and Hiroko exchanged wide glances before breaking into their own individual reactions. Holding back the tears, Hiroko had never felt so happy before. Toshiya nodded his head, as if he knew Yuuri’s little secret. But in Toshiya’s heart, it felt like an old injury was patched up with a band aid. A worry was healing. One less worry meant one more year of good health.

Mari came back from the kitchen after dropping off the box of alcohol. She stiffened when she smelled the sweet scent wafting off her parents.

“Yuuri has a beautiful voice,” Hiroko finally said, a flowery scent blossoming over her.

“Yeah…” Mari’s voice trailed off. “If he didn’t play good, he wouldn’t have been in Juilliard.”

Mari missed the point completely, but Toshiya and Hiroko went along with it for a just a tiny moment. Mari was true, but she only scratched the surface of what her mother truly meant. Maybe a marble was meant to be rolled around in one’s palm first before admired under the sunshine. That was Yuuri. He was like a little marble, and Mari had yet to view her brother under a personal stagelight where his colors were fully enriched.

On the domestic side at least, anticipation ran high as families gathered together to see a brother, a sister, a cousin, aunt or uncle, or perhaps a good friend perform for the world to see. Of course, it was too early for the second half of the  _ Theme of Love,  _ but too early wasn’t early enough. In music terms,  _ too early _ was weighed the same as  _ too late.  _ In the concert hall for the Moscow Symphony, on the second floor above the practice rooms, Yakov pulled up a livestream of the GDC event on his phone. About an hour before the first performance. First thing in the morning in Moscow while the afternoon was blazing in Australia.

Resting his phone against a composition guide, Yakov wore his headphones and turned the volume up slowly as news coverage showcased the musicians trooping back to the Sydney Opera House. While a reporter spoke, Yakov noticed Mila’s fiery hair in the background as she fiddled with her dead-in radio and slapped Yuri Plisetsky because the youth probably said something he shouldn’t have. Georgi’s laughter faded amongst the background voices.

Yakov missed that. Sometimes during the week, he would see Mila and Yuri walking back from lunch with content bellies and ease before Yuri said something insensitive and Mila did her part in correcting the youth’s profane mouth. Cue, Georgi would appear out of nowhere and tease Yuri before the double-bassist raised his voice. Then, all three of them grew deadly silent as they trooped past the occupied practice rooms before bursting into laughter and lively jives.

Wait. This was ridiculous. The trio had left Moscow around a week ago, and Yakov already missed their antics. In Yakov’s defense, he agreed that he was anxious and worried for their well-being. One, it was the first time any of them had traveled out of the country without adult supervision. Georgi was technically an adult, but he was still a child at heart so he didn’t count in the supervision. Two, Yuri was still considered  _ ‘undecided’  _ in regards to his dynamic, and Yakov was well-aware that Mila and Georgi were tense. Despite the cheerful attitude they expressed on the surface. If Yuri suddenly ‘turned’ during a performance, all Hell could very likely break loose. Too much stress for everyone involved. Now  _ that  _ was something to be worried about.

Maybe that was why Yakov worried about the trio so much. It was better for an old goose to bear the burdens while the younger birds flew without restraints. Something poetic like that, but Yakov wasn’t known for his poetry. Much like how Mila wasn’t known for her past, how Georgi wasn’t known for his sacrifices, or how Yuri wasn’t known for his inner good-will. Everyone had a story that could be told, if one chose to speak of it.

“I knew I shouldn’t have seen that play last night.” Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose while the commentators for the GDC event explained how the second half of the event will occur. If Yakov hadn’t been bothered by theatrical quotes and drama, he would’ve nodded along with the commentators as they broke down the upcoming event in easy, bite-sized sentences for the mind to digest.

Collaboration was encouraged. Freestyle and original compositions were allowed if they followed the event’s theme. No pre-recorded music. All music had to be made from the musicians onstage. Looping audio was allowed if the sounds were created onstage. Other than that, the second half was always the more laxed one and the audience typically responded more enthusiastically as well. Four formal performances and four freestyle performances made up one season of the GDC’s entirety. Four different themes encompassed it all, and Yakov was listening to random fan interviews so he turned off his phone and freed his ears.

About an hour left before the real playing started. Yakov wasn’t going to miss his pupils’ performances. Not today. Especially Otabek and Viktor’s.

But if music brought people together like a family...Well, there was one person in the building that matched the bill for Yakov. A stern alpha with the grace of a swan and the fury of a goose if provoked. Yakov, himself, was an old goose, but he knew better than to dimly wander down to an occupied practice room and risk losing something very valuable. Like his manhood. Yakov wanted to preserve the hair he had left and was afraid that everything would disappear if he heard Lilia’s criticizing tone.  _ Again. _

Entering the lioness’ den was one thing. Holding a civil conversation was another. Yakov pursed his lips. If Mila was here... _ No,  _ nothing would resolve if Yakov kept relying on a neutral party. It’d been a year since his and Lilia’s separation, and Yakov kept his wedding ring in his violin case. A constant reminder of the harmony that used to envelope him and Lilia back in their younger days. Maybe they couldn’t play a duet together anymore, but they could at least play each other solos until it felt natural to play a duet once more. Yakov took his violin case with him and ventured downstairs.

Meanwhile in the Sydney Opera House, Mila’s fingers froze over the red knob on the side of her radio. The faint red dial ran back and forth frantically before centering on a fixed point. Mila held her breath. Slowly, she raised the ancient raido to her ear. Faint whispers of a classical opera piece trickled out from the radio as a man and a woman’s voice came together in harmony. A grin tugged her lips, effectively scaring Yuri--who had just turned around, wondering why Mila got quiet all of a sudden. Seeing the alpha’s eyes light up while a smoking grin emerged from the ashes was a sight that kind of warmed Yuri, but it freaked him out at the same time.

“Why is she smiling?” Yuri nudged Georgi’s arm with a whisper. Georgi turned his head and caught a quick glance at the shock yet joy chiseled over Mila’s facial features. Cheeks rising from her grin, eyes growing narrow in their own smile, and a rosy tint complemented her complexion. Drifted off in her own world, Georgi and Yuri left Mila alone as they left to warm up and tune. Georgi lagged behind a bit and Mila broke from her trance to tell him the good news. About Yakov and Lilia.

“How do you know?” Georgi asked.

Mila gazed down at her little radio affectionately and took care to wipe off a smear with her sleeve. “I just have a feeling.” Fiddling with the knob on the side, Mila went back to finding a workable station. She had lost the signal but if she fine-tuned to it quick enough, she can catch up with the story and hear how it played out.

Maybe such trivial things shouldn’t have played out so neatly, but there was no hurt in being hopeful. When all you had was shattered glass, grab the dustpan and start sweeping so that you weren’t hurt anymore. To the quiet corners of the backstage, Viktor held onto that hope. Earbuds in his ear, a repeated song on Spotify when Viktor pulled back an inch of the velvet curtain and looked out. The rich ebony of a Yamaha piano reflected off the deep teal swirls hidden within Viktor’s eyes. Instead of the piano directly in front of him, the fine throne and chessboard propped its lid and gazed back at Viktor from the other side of the stage.

An earbud slipped from Viktor’s ear.  _ I can work with this.  _ Pulling back the curtain, Viktor glided past a snuggled Otabek and tossed his iPod to the cellist. Arms poking out from the fleece blanket that nuzzled him and his instrument, Otabek looked down at the iPod’s screen and saw a song on repeat. A faint smile tugged a corner of his lips.

“I guess we’re not playing  _ ‘Marriage d’Amour,’”  _ Otabek mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. Tucking the iPod against his ear, Otabek listened to the track Viktor had on repeat and visually mapped out the cello fingerings and bowings. His fingers tap-danced lightly over his instrument’s strings. A vibrant note rang out in an echo.

Meanwhile, Viktor hopped and fluttered like a spring chicken. The crest of his bangs swishing back and forth at every turn. Perceptive eyes scanning the mingling musicians that decorated their necks with flowery crowns and ribbons. An Adam’s apple stuck out when the searcher found who he was searching for. A docile bird in the distance, fluffing his wings and gazing down at the ground because he couldn’t fly. A flash of heat erupted over Viktor’s neck when Yuuri caught his stare.

Viktor’s hand twitched. How red was his neck? The playful bite mark left behind must’ve gained an extra fifty shades before Viktor puffed out a sigh. Returning color to the rest of his body. His neck remained very red, but it was the kind of red that was dipped and mixed with a vibrant pink as a passion suddenly turned very shy.

_ Calm down.  _ Was that for himself or his skipping heart? Viktor approached Takeshi and Yuuri, gave his greetings, and gazed down at the mental notes Takeshi scribbled for himself over wads of sheet music. Viktor leaned in close, gazed in Takeshi’s eyes, and plucked a pencil. Writing:  _ Can I speak to Yuuri? _

Takeshi’s pencil stopped scribbling. Three blooming roosters huddled over tidbits of corn, and one of them looked up and jerked his head to the side. Viktor stood his ground, keeping his posture tall when he stared back at Takeshi. He hated playing the dynamic game, but alphas were the rocks, omegas were the scissors, and the dear betas were blank sheets of paper because they bore no label.

“Just for a moment.” Viktor’s lips barely moved. He didn’t need to tear away from Takeshi to realize that Yuuri was close enough to read his lips if the violist cared to follow the conversation. Luckily, Yuuri was preoccupied with texting a friend or a family member. Viktor gave a slight nod, reassuring Takeshi that he no malicious intentions. He simply wanted a chat.

Takeshi dropped his pencil and gently shook Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri looked up and Takeshi signed that he had to use the toilet real quick.

_ Your move, Nikiforov.  _ A simple glance like that told Viktor that he was in the clear. Crouching down and meeting Yuuri as equals, Viktor felt bad but he had to use words. The pianist barely knew much sign language. Not to mention, there were so many distractions all around them that he was afraid that his words might get lost in the translation.

What struck Viktor was that Yuuri didn’t look away. His phone vibrated in his hands, but the violist kept his full attention on Viktor. Eyes glancing down to the pianist’s lips before drifting back up to meet Viktor in his eyes. Viktor’s neck glowed red again, but it was because there were a few reluctant words buried deeply in his throat.

“Yuuri, I--”  _ Calm down, Viktor.  _ The pianist knew that Yuuri was harvesting every word slipping from his lips. Only two words so far, but Viktor had to calm down. Not everything in Life was Do-or-Die. Viktor still had a second chance and he swiped it from the haughty perfectionist that flirted with his mind. The  _ other  _ him, the alpha voice that had complicated things for far too long. It was Viktor’s turn to initiate. On  _ his  _ terms. “The stage was rearranged since last night. Good decision too, because now the piano faces the entrance wing.”

_ Good.  _ Viktor gave the backstory. He had his support, and now to insert the purpose behind this little chat. Catching himself, Viktor lifted his head so that Yuuri could see his lips better. The pianist was getting better at catching Yuuri’s cues whenever Viktor felt like hiding his mouth so that others couldn’t listen in. “Performances get nerve-racking at times, especially if you have the important voice in a piece.” One reason or another, Viktor licked his lips. “If I looked up and saw you by the wing, I wouldn’t feel nervous anymore.”

_ This  _ was Viktor Nikiforov. Not the faint smile over a brooding man as photographers flashed him during a conference. Not the strained cheerfulness that had to be presented during a live coverage. But a childish and simple individual, who was nervous and scared because he wasn’t a leader but a mere fledgling learning how to fly. Viktor wasn’t a prestigious falcon with talons to prove it. He was a mere chicken, bumbling through tall grass and scratching the crumbling dirt for squishy treats.

He might’ve been an animal bred for the slaughter, but even food felt and had Life and Love once. Viktor visibly lit up when Yuuri tugged a scrap piece of paper from Takeshi’s pile and scribbled:  _ I’ll be there. Wait for me. _

If this warmth and happiness residing in his chest was a product of Love, Viktor vowed to never let it go. Right now, he had to leave. Takeshi was returning and Viktor needed to get ready. Fifteen minutes left before the first performance of the day. Fifteen minutes before he could look up from black and white keys. Open his heart to a Love that only made the heart grow fonder. Chris was right.  _ This  _ wasn’t meant to be thrown away. Not then, now now, and not ever.

The second half of the GDC started without a hitch. Cameras recording on the sidelines and in the back. Panning over the audience, collecting the excitement that oozed like rich honey from the buzz and thrill. Microphones and little recording devices rigged near the stage to capture the music with a three-sixty view. A familiar red plumage stood out in the audience as a chirpy Minami hopped to his seat. Seung-Gil glided quietly to his spot and roosted on the edge of his seat while Minami fluffed up and recorded a SnapChat story for his friends.

Stage lights honing in from the tech crew. Judges filing in with papers, pens, and pencils. The same level of professionalism as the day before, but much more laxed because today was more about expression than technique. However, there was a box to check off for technique, so the musicians had to remain proper. Albeit,  a sense of proper with a wild side kneaded into it to give the final product rich, tangy flavors and smells.

Ready at the entrance wing, Viktor purposely unbuttoned his collar. The rough material wavered, sinking low enough to expose the fine pink mark that the pianist treasured. Otabek pretended that the bite wasn’t there, or maybe he didn’t care. EIther way, the cellist didn’t treat his duet partner any differently as the two musicians mumbled back and forth on how the performance was supposed to go.

“Have you done improv before?”

Otabek shrugged. “I’ve done a little bit for family, but never in a competition.” Brutal honesty. Viktor patted the cellist’s back a little too firmly. An audible squeak escaped from Otabek, but his face was stoic as ever. The sweat left behind on Viktor’s hand was a reminder that Otabek was an omega in heat and that the littlest touches could send him over the edge. Viktor apologized. Otabek was grateful. Lifting their spirits, the duet partners emerged from the shadows and struck into the light.

When the duet played their song, Viktor had to admit that he was sloppy. Running off of a song he heard on Spotify, Viktor did improv on the spot. A general structure of the song weaved and connected itself in his mind while Otabek stuck to background duty. Hammering a steady rhythm for Viktor to jump back on when he lost his way. Improv wasn’t his cup of tea, but Viktor was bred for entertainment and he  _ and  _ Otabek definitely entertained the crowd with the quirks and thrills of the covered piece.

Restless fingers sashaying and climbing over black and white keys until Viktor found a style that he felt comfortable with. Nose-diving into pillaring chords and fleeting notes, Viktor almost forgot to look up. With the piano lid propped open, he saw a face hiding behind a pair of glasses near the entrance wing. Yuuri did come. After all.

Awkward, tripped chords shattered Viktor’s ears, but he pulled through and redeemed himself after Otabek looked back and flashed a stare of concern.  _ Sorry, sorry.  _ Back into the swing of things, Viktor winked at Yuuri and expressed his feelings through facial expressions. A wider smile. Pointed eyes. The sudden show of teeth when Viktor leaned in close to pull off a trick, driving the audience to the edge of their seat. The wrinkles by Viktor’s eyes because a smile couldn’t contain the energy and joy that coursed down his arms, to his fingers, and through the arsenal of piano keys.

This was Yuuri’s dream. The violist had many dreams, but the most important one was that he hoped that someone would play a song that was meant for him. He couldn’t say for sure in Viktor’s case, but the pianist gave a private performance that no camera could capture in full quality. The smiles and subtle expressions were reserved for Yuuri’s eyes.

It only took a moment before Yuuri caught himself grinning back at Viktor when the performance was done. It was obvious that the pianist didn’t want to go, but he had to join Otabek at the stage’s center so that he can bow his head and leave a stunning impression to the cheering crowd. Yuuri’s smile shone through. It shouldn’t have happened, but Yuuri couldn’t hide it. Viktor saw a sight that was worth more than a thousand gold medals, and Yuuri knew he gave more than he bargained for.

_ Don’t worry about it. He’ll forget.  _ Yuuri reassured himself this, troubled that his emotions were so quick on the draw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viktor’s view vs. Yuuri’s view of their relationship.
> 
> Viktor adores Yuuri. Within a week, he learned a few simple greetings in ASL. He’s paying attention to how he talks around Yuuri. Is he starting to look down? Is his hand creeping up to hide what he wants to say? Viktor notices these things and stops himself before it happens.
> 
> Viktor is naive about Love. He knows this, so he wants to take things slow. But at the same time, Viktor wants to be bold and rash because it isn’t his nature to suddenly be shy and passive. He doesn’t want to cloak his faults. He wants to embrace them and show Yuuri because this is who he is.
> 
> For Yuuri’s case, he’s skeptical that someone like Viktor would Love someone...someone like him. Yuuri can maintain this facade for as long as he can, but he’s afraid. Afraid of the mask slipping, afraid that these pseudo-feelings will become real. Yuuri’s afraid because it would hurt much more when Viktor leaves.
> 
> Yuuri thought that people only fell in Love because of dynamics. When he got older, he realized that people fell in Love because they felt supported, cherished, respected, and nourished. Yuuri’s worried that he may grow selfish from Viktor’s affections when he can’t relay those affections back.  
> But whenever Yuuri tries to keep his heart guarded, Viktor somehow finds a way to help him open up again.
> 
> Will be elaborated upon in Yuuri's P.O.V. in the next chapter~!


	17. The Story of Us pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One thing about music is that when it hits you, you don't feel the pain. You can't say the same for words and misunderstandings, but words are double-edged swords. If it hits the ones you love most, it's guaranteed that the sword will stab you too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Currently recovering from a nasty fall that leaves me broken all over. It may explain why the writing-style for this chapter is kind off. Well, I'm also reading "The Great Gatsby" so I may have been influenced by the unique style as well. Other than that, I just want to focus on recovering and I apologize for the rush in this chapter.
> 
> Also, I'm very tired of describing all the performances. I had to do it for this first one because it was the first competition. After this, each GDC will focus on one or two of the performing groups so that I won't have to burn out from all this describing. I can't wait until they leave Australia. One more chapter for Australia and we can change scenes and really start trekking through this story!
> 
> I want to complete this story in 12 to 15 more chapters~!

When Yuri was younger, he remembered holding one hand at his hip while the other held onto a balance beam. About fifteen or twenty other girls and boys in uniforms and tights held onto the same balance beam while a ballet instructor showed the first stretches that separated a gosling from a baby swan. Yuri thought that a gosling and a baby swan were the same bird, but he held his tongue and glared at the ticking clock above the panel of practice mirrors. When the small boy caught his reflection a second later, a childish growl escaped from his lips.

Standing with a twist and turn was a tiny Yuri Plisetsky. A small Yuri Plisetsky with a permanent pout and an alpha-ish glint deep in his eyes. When the clock signaled that he could go home, little Yuri ran out in the autumn weather and jumped into his grandfather’s arms when Nikolai Plisetsky when the elderly omega stepped out from his vehicle.

Ballet wasn’t meant for someone like Yuri, but he couldn’t leave. Yuri needed an activity to consume his afternoons when his grandfather had neighborhood gardens to attend to. Another option didn’t branch out until Yuri visited an antique store once with his grandfather.

Under the dust and hidden in the thickets of decaying instruments, Yuri found a glossy double-bass. Rich, redwood hues dipping into the centre of the instrument as a burnt furnish traced the outline. Accentuating the hips and shoulders of the instrument. The instrument was far too big for little Yuri to play but when his thumb ran over the bulky strings, Yuri realized his calling. Not a graceful dancer with tights up his legs, but a musician that head-banged with a sort of rhythm. Besides, Yuri’s grandfather was a sucker for classical music, and Yuri wanted to make his grandfather proud.

“Yuri Plisetsky? Georgi Popovich?” A stagehand came to the back, clipboard in hand. Pulling back her bangs, the stagehand called out to the two musicians again.

In heavier makeup than the day before, Georgi rose to his feet. Mila held and kissed the pianist’s hand before planting a smooch over a sidetracked Yuri. As soon as Mila’s lips touched his forehead, Yuri broke from his flashback and nearly attacked the alpha with his bow. Mila flew back, playfully teasing the young double-bassist while boiling embarrassment bubbled over Yuri’s skin. Flustered, the usual nicknames and banter crept from Yuri’s suddenly shy lips while Mila combatted with her own sly words. A lazy bang drifting over one eye when she blew Yuri an air-kiss. Shuddering, Yuri latched onto Georgi and the pianist was bubbly as usual while he helped Yuri carry his instrument.

Georgi had to shake his head from the antics. Mila and Yuri’s teasings were always a lot worse when one of them was nervous. Despite the haughty facade and general rush of emotions bubbling within a teen, Yuri was holding Georgi’s hand for once and didn’t object when Georgi squeezed the hand softly. It was easy to forget that Yuri was young and inexperienced in performances. The youth had to grow up fast in the Moscow Symphony, much like how a dancer had to lose herself to be the prima ballerina on the World’s Stage.

_ “Nervous?” _ Georgi whispered loud enough for Yuri to hear.

Yuri shook his head. Hand tightening over Georgi’s when they reached the entrance wing. Just on the other side of this darkness, the spotlight was waiting for them. The home stretch for the  _ Theme of Love.  _ Yuri glared at the waiting spotlight. Really? Did it have to shine prominently over where the empty bass stool? Yuri could practically see his name being signed on by the light. A hustling and bustling crowd clutching programs against their chests for the next performance. But Yuri was not supposed to be under the spotlight, that job was hoisted onto Georgi’s shoulders but most audience members believed that Russia only had one star pianist.

“Are  _ you  _ going to be okay?” Yuri mumbled.

Georgi lifted an eyebrow. A sly smile hovering over his lips. “I don’t know until I try. Let’s go.  _ Together.”  _ Georgi held Yuri’s hand as the two crossed onto the stage. He held onto Yuri’s hand until he had to part and reunite with the usual piano.

Georgi sat on the very seat that Viktor did. Breathed in the same as Viktor. Felt the same keys as Viktor. Georgi wasn’t Viktor. Not by a long shot, but he didn’t have to be Viktor to be surprising just like the alpha. The creak of the piano bench when Georgi adjusted his legs, tapping the pedals tentatively with his feet. Adjusting to the pressure and tapping out a warmup scale over the pearl black furnish shading over the black and white keys.

Yuri was at an angle from Georgi’s view. The pianist scooted over to the see the youth better, and Yuri sat up straight to holding a comfortable position over his notes. Traded a French Bow from  _ ‘Agape’  _ for a German Bow of a  _ ‘Sleeping Prince’.  _ Yuri needed to imitate the beating drum of a heartbeat. Not yet. Waiting eye acknowledging Georgi’s.

The announcer finished the introductions.

Bow hanging off the side of his instrument, Yuri bobbed his head along with the tap of his bow. Imaginary rests stood before Georgi like bulky, iron gates. Yuri was the gatekeeper, sliding off the coiled chains to reveal a House of Gold. So that Georgi can give his heart away.  [ At the first hint of light, Georgi’s fingers rolled over the piano keys. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tA19KMrDi94) Yuri held whole notes for measures at a time. A quick flick of the head and Georgi’s fingers pounded a crescendo into his range.

A pulsing beat resonating in his mind. Georgi flew from the piano bench and head-banged. Pointed hair coming undone. Fast tempo. A dj-rhythm coursing through his blood. Left hand moving a meter a second with sixteenth notes. Right hand melting broken stone into gold, fitting for a prince emerging from his slumber. To ascend onto the throne.

On the floor, Yuri’s double-bass rested on its side. Bow in hand, Yuri closed his eyes. Free hand fluttering to his head while bow-hand extended to the side. Like how a little Yuri used to cling to a balance beam in a ballet memory.  _ This  _ wasn’t a ballet.  _ Far from it. _

_ Breathe.  _ Yuri lifted and stretched his legs. It’d been a long time since those muscles were used like this.  _ Hear.  _ The dynamic rhythms bellowing from the piano constructed a fluid web in Yuri’s mind. His feet impatiently stomped at the major down beats.  _ Listen.  _ A sudden twist and turn before Yuri shot from the starting line. Marrying the ideals of his old ballet instructor and his grandfather. Embodying the outpour of passion leaking from Georgi.

As soon as Yuri moved, Georgi jumped into the first verse of the covered piece and kept a steady beat for Yuri to climb as the dancer portrayed ballet in a way that no one could imagine.

Deconstructed ballet with the same flexibility, but a more modern beat for the interpretive dance.

Mila yelled out the lyrics in the audience, waving Yakov’s radio and lit phone.

A bubbling cauldron of voices echoed off the Sydney Opera House. Claps and stomps syncing with the basic beat. Tears streaming from Georgi’s eyes, but he stood strong for the notes Yuri needed. A bad landing ached Yuri’s ankle, but he was quick for a reason. Swinging back and forth with each step, the fluid interpretation was his cushion.

Otabek shouting,  _ “Davai!”  _ when Yuri jumped again, and the youth landed flawlessly on his good foot. Securing gold for audience participation. Viktor clapping along to the song with Yuri’s reflection in his eyes. His body swaying back and forth to the dance as a little jig took over his arms and the older musician playfully danced in place.

Takeshi forgot his dropped jaw. Fished for his phone to record this performance to send to Yuuko and his children. Yuuri’s smile growing bigger like the Australian sun. Cheeks tinged with pink. Eyes brightening up when he recognized some of his footwork in Yuri’s dance. He inspired someone, and it didn’t shoot Yuuri down. Yuuri’s heart soared. Hand clasped over his mouth in utter  _ shock and amazement! _

Phichit with heated fingers, shipping pictures and clips onto his social media. Guanghong at the edge of his seat, skin flaring up with a rich red. He was mesmerized. Leo sitting next to Guanghong, singing the lyrics of the song and clapping his hands to the rhythm with a rosy face. Glistening eyes.

Emil drumming the complex rhythm of Georgi’s piano over his guitar. Sara nudging Michele’s shoulder and the two sang with the audience. The twins rocking each other back and forth on the shoulder.

A wide-eyed JJ with his breath stolen from the performance. Isabella clasped her fiance’s hand, nuzzled close to JJ to warm him back to reality, and sang the lyrics into his ear.

**_“Wake me up!”_** shouted the crowd.

_ “No matter what, I’ll save you now,”  _ Isabella whispered and JJ scratched his chin in a shyly before embracing his fiancee back.

**_“Wake me up!”_** shouted the crowd.

_ “No matter what, I’ll kiss you now.”  _ JJ raised Isabella’s hand and pecked a sweet kiss. Together, they lifted their voices for the rest of the bridge.

Georgi suddenly softening his punches until a drum of notes signaled the climax. Yuri pounced back to his bass stool, pulled up his instrument, tossed his bow into the air, catching it to flawlessly sink into the whole bass note that Georgi held out for him. The last booming chords before Yuri shot down the bridge for the treble notes.

A welcoming church bell spilling over Yuri’s fingers along with the resonating vibrato. The trills and thrills bantering back and forth from the bass and piano. Slurring notes crossed over strings, weaved back and forth like the beats of a humble heart. The prince was back home. His story told. His sleeping tale done.

An excellent start to the second half of the first quarter of the GDC. That was a mouthful, but it won’t be the last mouthful for now. The enthusiastic audience cried out for more performances and more performances did come. The first two performances from the Russian team were hard to beat. Some came close to the flexibility and awe, but the bar was set too high for most musicians to hit. A close second came from  _ “The JJ and Isabella duo” _ .

Fifteen performances in, the Canadian couple rose to the challenge to mark their names down in history. Isabella, sporting a flowery red dress as she sashayed to the piano. JJ, black vest and tie hugging him around the snug middle. Chest puffed out in pride. Words of a familiar song at the tip of his tongue. For you see, Love wasn’t merely just about another. Sometimes, you had to Love yourself. Standing straight, feet apart, JJ spilled his words neatly into the microphone after the usual round of introductions.

[ Passionate words from a theme that bore his name. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Ccfu9RAUSU) Isabella faded into the background as the fluid harmony to JJ’s melody. Despite the ego and the self-confidence that filled the Montreal-youth from the brim to the core, his voice was surprisingly soft. Fluttering like a new bird on its wings. With time, it grew in strength, but it didn’t stray from the fine, casual words that embodied its heart and soul. This performance was personal, as if JJ was consulting himself. Telling himself and others that the most important person in this world was yourself and without it, you weren’t who you were.

Love was a teacher, a guidance counselor who helped adjust the skewed view you had towards yourself and others. Love was the sane voice that spoke out in the darkness. Love was the gentle caress on the cheek and the empowering hug that left one breathless. Accompanying it was the idea of believing in yourself, and JJ took that message home.

Just standing here before an international audience choked him. His feet thought about drifting behind a curtain and disappearing into the shadows until only his voice was left. JJ kept glancing back at Isabella, not only making sure that he was on tempo but so that he could see her face and she could give him acknowledging nods. She sang with him. Not close to the microphone by the piano, but she sang along so that JJ wasn’t singing alone.

For a man with a musical background, performing onstage should’ve been second-nature, but JJ felt like it was his first time singing. Oh, how far he had gone from then. For one, JJ wasn’t wearing an emerald plaid shirt with a hot red bowtie. Two, JJ’s voice wasn’t shaky, despite it sounding that way to his own ears. Lastly, he had performed on countless stages before now. Every tool and every experience from his past crafted a better, newer JJ. A JJ that was ready for the hot spotlight and the greedy crowd.

At times, away from the crowd and away from the music, JJ just wanted to be normal. Have friends, hold relationships, sip Starbucks between his teeth, and half-snooze through dragging lectures in college. Maybe it was time to bleed more of him into his facade, or perhaps pull the mask off for once. Too soon for right now, but this was JJ’s goal. To be stronger for himself. To branch out from the tight-knit, little circle he drew around him.

Sure, everyone knew  _ ‘the king’,  _ but none knew Jean Jacques Leroy. Except a choice few, but that choice few could easily grow into a large, happy group if he tried hard enough. JJ believed in that. Perhaps this performance wasn’t memorable to those who were listening nearby. Perhaps it was rather dull and maybe not as energetic as JJ hoped it would be. A soft voice was a stark contrast from the deep rumble that typically strummed over his vocal chords.  _ Another time.  _ Right now, JJ wanted to pull down his walls. Let people take a glimpse at who he was.

In the audience, Emil picked up on the the subtle change that crept over JJ’s voice towards the end of the song. It was a gentle dip into something raw and personal, but it was fleeting. Emil thought he merely imagined it, but the shy smile and blooming character that was JJ made the guitarist think otherwise. He wasn’t sure what he heard, but it may’ve been the truest JJ Leroy that he had ever heard.

Someone kind yet plagued by their own demons. Emil stared guiltily down at his own hands. He knew that feeling all too well, and Emil clapped the hardest when Isabella and JJ walked offstage with lighter hearts than before the performance.

The afternoon began to wear thin as more performances came and went. At around the thirtieth performance, Takeshi quietly shook Yuuri’s shoulder. Telling the violist with his eyes that they had to go backstage. Momentarily breaking his attention from the performance, Yuuri saw a beaming Phichit leading the ensemble. A mingling Sara and Leo, swapping notes and making last-minute changes to their lyrical exchanges. Michele warming up his lips over his trumpet’s mouthpiece. Emil hovering nearby, drumming his fingers softly over his guitar. Guanghong near the back, a shopping bag in one hand and a violin case in the other as he stumbled to keep up with the taller musicians.

Friends. All of them were Yuuri’s friends. The group stopped and turned, motioning Takeshi and Yuuri to join them.

_ “Ready?”  _ Takeshi signed. The pianist was already up, over, and around Yuuri by the time Yuuri registered where his duet partner was. An outstretched hand, and Yuuri took it with a tight clasp of skin. The clap loud enough for Viktor to hear from where he was. Ears perked, Viktor’s eyes studied the large ensemble as it trooped backstage. What time was it? Discreetly, Viktor pulled out his phone and Otabek refrained from glancing over.

“Excuse me,” Viktor whispered, hunched over as he moved down the row of seats to enter the backstage. Wrapped under his fleece blanket, Otabek broke and his eyes followed Viktor until the alpha was gone. Crestfallen, Otabek eased back into the ongoing performance. Eyes watering because of his heat. Or perhaps, he wanted to lean on someone’s shoulder, but Viktor was gone.

Meanwhile behind the scenes, all the omegas trooped to the restroom to change into their performance outfits. Since the song of choice had a beach and island feel to it, Sara and Phichit came up with the idea of wearing Hawaiian shirts. Or, at least something that you would hashtag  _ beachlife  _ with. Wide beach hats were passed around, but Emil settled on a comical fishing hat with a spool of fishing line wrapped around. A hook with a cork on the end dangling by his ear.

Michele and Takeshi in hot pink shirts with intimidating sunglasses to boot. Sara dusted salt into her brother’s hair to make him seem like an angry beach-goer that was slammed head-first into the sand by a volleyball. Oddly specific, but Michele had a very good memory of who did it to him. He still pouted at Sara when she pour some  _ real  _ beach sand into his hair. Takeshi stuck with the flower necklace and gave himself an eyepatch from the prop shopping bag that Guanghong carried.

In the alpha restroom, Guanghong and Yuuri had each other. It was quiet for the most part. With Guanghong humming to himself while Yuuri dug his head into a straw hat for comedy reasons. Nothing to talk about, but silence wasn’t all bad. Since he and Yuuri were playing the background, Guanghong reviewed his fingerings. Tapping his thigh when Yuuri came around to tie a loose, fluid scarf around Guanghong’s neck. A proud pat on the back. Guanghong played a smile, rigidly signing that the performance was going to be a lot of fun.

Yuuri nodded. Grabbing their prop bag, they left the restroom together. Bumping into a hurried Viktor on the way out. The alpha nearly ran into the door when Guanghong pushed it open, and the violinist squeaked an apology. Phone next to his ear, Viktor swung the door open. All the way. A slam that echoed back to the omega restroom, startling the musicians in it.

_ “Viktor?”  _ The name came out clumsily from Yuuri’s lips. He couldn’t see the alpha’s eyes. Lost under tangling bangs. A heavy, territorial scent saturated the air. Making Guanghong shy towards the door while the alpha in Yuuri’s head trailed his claws down the slick membrane of Yuuri’s mind. Guanghong tugged Yuuri’s arm, hands shaking so much that he couldn’t sign properly. Head turned, Yuuri stood his ground. “Viktor.” A confident tone from Yuuri.

Even though Yuuri didn’t hear it, he jumped when Viktor shouted into his phone. Tearing up, Guanghong hugged Yuuri around the middle and carried the beta out of the restroom. The door clicking when they left.

All alone, Viktor slumped against a stall door, hand raking through his hair. Phone next to his ear again. Hand snaking down to his face and covering his eyes. Chris’ quiet voice kept the alpha quiet.

_ “I’m sorry, Viktor.” _

“We had a duet,  _ Chris.” _ Viktor looked around the restroom. Anything for him to grab onto. His phone was cracking under his grip. The hard plastic case digging shards into his fingers.

_ “Calm down, Nikiforov.”  _ Chris readjusted his phone, and his husky voice was back on the line.  _ “I already notified the judges that I’m not playing.” _

Something snapped in Viktor. His voice could be heard echoing down the hallway.

“Why are you here if you’re quitting? What was the point?!”

No whimper on the line. Viktor wished that Chris whimpered. It could’ve stopped this bruting nature that took over Viktor. He was yelling at his friend, belittling Chris for not being a musician. Viktor  _ hated  _ it. These words weren’t his own, but his anger spilled over and a Viktor that wasn’t him took charge.  _ Please, Chris. Help me.  _ An unfamiliar snarl bubbled deep from Viktor’s throat.

Chris snapped,  _ “It isn’t my fault.” _

“What do you need? Heating pad? Warm towels? I’ll carry you to the opera house if I have to.” Words. Any words so that Viktor could have control over his body again.

_ “I need you to talk to me as a friend and not as some goddamn rival!”  _ Chris finally said it. Shouted it, actually. Viktor massaged his aching ear and heard Chris’ low sigh. A rustle of sheets. Chris was probably retreating into his makeshift nest.  _ “Viktor, I’m not feeling well.” _

“You’re on your heat.”

_ “It’s not the heat talking. It’s me that’s talking.”  _ The saxophonist panted for a moment. Viktor gradually brought his phone closer to his ear when Chris spoke.  _ “I wish we could’ve played a duet. I wish I was at the place right now so that we can play together. Good time’s sake. You know?” _

“Chris…” Viktor’s voice trailed off.

_ “You’ve been good to me, Viktor. Stubborn around the edges, but you’re not a bad person. Pretty to get what you want, naive to not know what you’re going to get.” _

“Chris.” Viktor stressed the name, drawing it out between his teeth in a joking manner.

Chris laughed.  _ “We need a proper talk. Just you and me.” _

Viktor nodded. Realizing that Chris couldn’t see it, he mumbled, “We should.”

_ “Shouldn’t you be watching Yuuri’s performance? He’s in an ensemble, isn’t he? I know he wants to see you.” _

Viktor checked the time on his phone and nearly dropped his phone. He didn’t want to, but Viktor had to rush the goodbye. Running out of the restroom, down the hallway, out from backstage and emerging into the audience area. Already, cheers and applause reverberated off the walls. The ensemble was done, disappearing behind the velvet curtains for the next performance.

Cursing under his breath, Viktor turned around and ran. He suddenly became aware that he was disheveled, sweating, and distressed. Viktor found the ensemble but couldn’t approach it. Takeshi shot him a warning look, as if Viktor had done something wrong. Phichit’s eyes hinted with pride when he turned around to sign something to Yuuri.

The beta was busy putting his viola away, polishing the bright wood that reflected what he couldn’t say. Bandages wrapped firmly around his fingers. Cotton cloths secure around his head with a waiting ice pack in Leo’s hand when he asked Yuuri if he needed it. The beta shook his head. When he turned around, a strained smile tugged his lips when he saw Viktor.

Viktor knew that smile. The twisted knife of a wound that carved into the flesh of a puppet when it had nothing else to show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank for reading, kudosing, commenting, sharing and more.


	18. Before I Give My Heart Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri grew a little braver. “W-Words aren’t my strong point, but I try my best.” Voice strained, Yuuri tried to summon some sort of strength to help him follow through. There were so many things he wanted to say, but the words were lost to him. He could easily sign everything, but Yuuri didn’t want to use those signs. He wanted to use words. For the first time, he wished he knew more words. “I know I’m not strong and still working on these words.” His voice grew stronger. “I can’t say that these feelings in my heart are Love, but I hold a very strong feeling for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Otabek is the ultimate relationship catalyst. Um, that's bad wording. Even though he's not under the spotlight a lot in this story, it doesn't mean he doesn't notice things. He's kind of like the omniscient character who figures out things through what he observes and form his own thoughts and opinions based on that.
> 
> He's the nomadic observer and I want to portray him as cuddly because we need to balance the badass side with something cute and fluffy.

Something wrong happened that day.

Otabek realized it as soon as Viktor bolted down the row, hunched over to not distract the audience from the ongoing performance. Otabek didn’t catch a glimpse of Viktor’s face, but there was a raw emotion splashed across the pianist’s face. An emotion so pure in what it was that it didn’t register as a scent. Viktor had no scent. As if a part of him was abandoned, leaving a blank canvas for something sinister.

Otabek was a cellist of very few words. He knew that, but the cellist wanted to say something. Otabek had half the nerve to tail after Viktor because a sudden tug gripped his instincts. It was unreliable to trace all of this back to dynamics and hormonal imbalances because of a heat, but Otabek truly felt something  _ off  _ ever since Viktor left.

There weren’t any familiar faces around him, but Otabek tried to instigate small talk with the person sitting next to him. Either she was scared of his eyes or of the permanent stone-expression that sculpted his face. A few words later, the person shut Otabek down. All the words that he wanted to say were forced into submission.

When the ensemble-- _ Phichit, Yuuri, Takeshi, Emil, Michele and Sara, Guanghong, and Leo-- _ came onto the stage, Otabek caught a whiff of distress emitting from little Guanghong. The violinist trembled so much that the group had to alert for a time-out. Guanghong was led to the side, and Phichit and Leo talked to him. Trying to work out what was wrong. Michele, already on edge, moved stiffly around the stage. Anything to loosen his limbs.

Otabek scanned the crowd, eyes focusing on Yuuri and Takeshi. Yuuri looked visibly relaxed. Cool eyes peering into the audience, but Otabek sat a little straighter in his seat. Yuuri was looking for someone. Viktor, possibly? Maybe the pianist went another route and completely missed the violist. That was a decent possibility, but Otabek didn’t buy it one bit. Biting his thumb, he tried to study the violist, but Yuuri showed no hint of emotion except in his eyes. Yuuri’s partner, Takeshi, was a sharp contrast. Confused at Yuuri’s suddenly numb behavior, Takeshi tried to coax something from his friend.  _ Anything _ .

Otabek recognized a few of the signs. When Takeshi signed Viktor’s name, Yuuri glanced at his partner before looking down at his shoes. Bending down to tie them. His fingers fumbled over the laces, but they were mere pokes than actual tying.

When the performance started, things got more lively and cheerful. Sara and Leo sang their duets while everyone else filled the void with a background harmony. A few backup singers sprinkled in between. Lyrics hopped from Phichit, to Guanghong, to Emil, to Takeshi, and then back to Phichit. Yuuri played on a smile while his viola sang his part. Light footwork from the violist, but there was something detached about his movements.

Compared to the enthusiasm from everyone else, Yuuri’s sullen footwork dragged gray over the red and yellow of the performance. The dark stain grew bigger, spreading across the artwork gradually. Sara and Leo painted more bright colors with their voices. Combatting the soft gray that crept from the corner of the page. Otabek wondered if Yuuri was even aware of his actions. There was something  _ off _ . As if Yuuri was wrestling  a thought around in his head. Conveying the battle without realizing it.

Otabek’s jaw dropped when Yuuri fell. Lost in his own thoughts, the violist dangled dangerously over the edge of the stage when gravity tipped him over. Head slammed over the side of the stage, fingers took the brunt of the force to save his instrument. Knees scratched and red, but Yuuri scrambled back to his feet and continued playing. Shooting encouraging looks to the ensemble and to the audience, Yuuri played with more enthusiasm than before. Parking himself to a single spot on the stage. His knees turned purple and a bump became more prominent on his head. The little hill turning into a mountain by the end of the performance.

After the bows and acknowledgements, Yuuri was carried offstage and bandaged behind the velvet curtains. After the intermission, Otabek rose from his seat and rushed behind the scenes. Climbing up the stairs,  _ fleece blanket rippling like a cape _ , Otabek stumbled upon a scene.

A disheveled Viktor with terror knifed into his eyes. A menacing aura from Takeshi, as if the omega figured out  _ why  _ Yuuri wasn’t himself. Concerned friends hovering over Yuuri’s shoulder. An indifferent beta that simply polished his viola, like nothing mattered to him anymore.

When it was the morning after, Otabek barely had a wink of sleep. The mounting tension threw his hormones on edge, and he doubted that Takeshi slept. The older omega tossed and turned throughout the night, destroying the lovely nest that they created during the past week. Clothes and blankets slid off during the night, and Otabek only pretended to sleep so that Takeshi wouldn’t feel bad.

The situation on the other bed was a mystery to Otabek, but he was sure that Yuuri and Viktor slept together. From the few glances he stole while “asleep”, Otabek saw Yuuri’s back. The gentle rise and fall of the beta’s chest. Head elevated and cushioned. Bandaged fingers reaching out over the great valley that divided him and Viktor. Viktor had his back towards Yuuri, huddled on the very edge of the bed. Dangerously close to tipping over. Viktor didn’t sleep that night. Clutching a fold of the shared blanket like his Life depended on it.

When the sun came up and bodies began to move, Takeshi rose from his grave. Eyes following Viktor when the alpha strolled across the room, looking out the window to the beach. Lost in his own smaller world with the receding and arriving waves reflected over his eyes. Arms crossed, holding himself together despite the searing tension.

A rustle of sheets. Yuuri woke up at last. Rubbing his eyes and Takeshi finally broke into a smile and signed his pal a  _ “Good morning.”  _ Otabek copied the same sign and tried to smile. Yuuri knew that he was trying. The violist signed his own morning greeting to the two before easing out of bed. Footsteps leaving an audible trace along the floor. Viktor’s finger twitched when the footsteps began to approach  _ him _ . Viktor didn’t turn around. Takeshi watched the two stubborn  _ alphas  _ like this was an overdrawn soap opera. Otabek held his breath.

Reaching out two fingers, Yuuri almost touched the small of Viktor’s back. Paused and then pulled away. Otabek’s anticipation fell, slumped itself into a corner. Even Viktor deflated a bit, lip quivering as if he was going to cry. He  _ almost  _ cried. Instead of a touch on the back, Yuuri slowly wrapped his arms around Viktor’s waist and pulled the taller man into a hug. Face buried into the back of Viktor’s bathrobe, nose pressed against the lovely peppermint scent that made his heart flutter. Cheeks a numb red, Yuuri shook. Holding onto Viktor as if it was the last thing he had to do. Suddenly, Yuuri felt a cold hand reach down to his own hand. Squeezing it for warmth until both hands were as warm as the other.

“Viktor.”

Viktor’s eyes watered at the sound of his name. Takeshi hid his gasp with his hand. Otabek committed Yuuri’s voice to memory.

Yuuri then lifted his head, mouth hovering next to Viktor’s ear.  _ “Good morning,”  _ he whispered. Lightly scenting Viktor’s neck with his cheek. Rubbing off Viktor’s anxiety and replacing it with strength. Yuuri broke away from the hug. The soft click of the bathroom door when the beta retreated inside.

Viktor, Takeshi, and Otabek all jumped when they heard a shriek. Nearly tearing the door from its hinges, they saw Yuuri clutching his tube of toothpaste like it was a fragile bird. Smudges of toothpaste stained the gleaming floor and Yuuri hung his head in shame at the wasted toothpaste.

Thrown back into the loop with sudden change in atmosphere, Takeshi huddled close to his friend and comforted Yuuri with a reassuring pats. Otabek offered his tube of toothpaste to Yuuri, but the beta was too upset to notice it. The sudden mood whiplash caught Viktor off guard, but he felt whole again when wiping the toothpaste stain off from the floor.

Later that morning, Viktor bought twelve packs of toothpaste from the nearby general store and deposited them into Yuuri’s luggage case. Takeshi watched Viktor do it before finally admitting, “You know, I guess you’re not as heartless as I thought.”

Viktor viewed the quote as progress and reintroduced himself to Takeshi, to start a new beginning for them both. Takeshi reintroduced himself too, and they shook hands at the new beginning. Then, Takeshi pulled Viktor close so that he would listen  _ very  _ carefully.

_ “I don’t know if there’s a misunderstanding between you and Yuuri.” _ All of this was in a whisper, as if news reporters and the media were hidden within the room walls.  _ “Whatever it is, address it to Yuuri as soon you can. Communication gets easily skewed when all you have are visuals, so let him know what’s really happening. If there  _ **_is_ ** _ something happening.” _

[ Lost in the translation along the bleeding pages of Australia, another couple had a nearly similar issue. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CD2Tc54ByvA) Not exactly,  _ though _ .

Lounged in the hotel lobby with pre-flight stress weighing over the shoulders, JJ shuffled through his phone’s playlist. Listening to music wasn’t exactly calm for someone who made music regularly, but JJ treated it as white noise while Isabella skimmed through her notes. Delicate fingernails brushing against the creamy pages of her notebook. Blue pink etched between the lines. Hypothesizing the next three scores for the GDC events left. Tallying which songs would give the duo the highest points if performed.

Isabella was always good with stuff like that. All the notes were laid out neatly in her notebook, and it only took about twenty seconds to understand the chaos that bled through every page. With the  _ Theme of Love  _ behind them, now it was time to focus on  _ Perseverance.  _ What did the word mean to them? More importantly, what songs embodied that theme? JJ and Isabella had a few guesses between them, but they already had a song picked out months ago when all four themes were announced.

After a while, Isabella snapped her notebook shut and pulled out one of JJ’s earbuds.

“Any changes?” JJ squeaked.

“None. We did really good for this first quarter.” Isabella slouched against the hotel couch. Arm snaking over JJ’s shoulder to hold him close. “I can’t stop thinking about yesterday’s performance.”

“I don’t think anyone would forget that Katsuki guy’s fall,” JJ blurted out. Realizing what he said, JJ lowered his head and pulled out his other earbud. “I mean, a lot of people were concerned for his safety and he was a bit out of it when people asked him if he was okay.”

Isabella nodded, eyes flickering back and forth between JJ’s eyes and the hesitation sealed across his lips. “He’s probably still shook from all the craziness that’s been going on for the past few days.” Even though Isabella’s mouth held a reasonable expression, her eyes were dull. Scanning her fiance in every which way before Isabella finally said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about  _ our  _ performance.”

“W-We did great.” JJ nodded along to his words. Accenting the down beats and rushing the upbeats.

“Admit it.” Isabella leaned forward. JJ couldn’t escape. “How much of that phrase  _ do you _ really believe?”

Cornered, JJ gently nudged Isabella back. About to tug on the usual, confident facade; however, JJ knew that it wouldn’t work on Isabella. It never worked on her, even when he first met her as a little kid in a summer music program. Her eyes always saw through what JJ tried to hide behind, and now was no different.

“I was kind of disappointed in myself,” JJ admitted. “It wasn’t a very memorable performance, but I wanted to be true to myself. I wanted people to see a different side to me. The  _ real  _ me.” JJ went on to explain how he felt, but Isabella cut him off and told him that she already knew.

“Knowing you for years, I’ve seen your ups and downs.” A hint of a smile brightened over Isabella’s face. “I’m proud of you.”

_ “What?” _ JJ blinked.

Isabella poked JJ’s cheek with each word. “I’m. Proud. Of. You.” Lowering her finger, Isabella curled her hand around JJ’s and squeezed it tightly. As tightly as she could before JJ’s arm shook. “I’m proud that you’re growing stronger and more confident every day. Eventually, you can leave your  _ ‘King JJ’  _ persona behind.”

JJ laughed, and it was impossible not to. “I don’t know if I can.”

“What’s holding you back?”

JJ gulped. He didn’t know how to explain it. One moment, he was anxious before a performance or around other musicians. It was quite understandable that nerves often got in the way but for JJ’s case, it was unbearable. In his defense, JJ crafted a face that was confident and loud, something that him that everything was going to be okay. It was another side to JJ that he never knew that he had, and he cherished every second with it. His family didn’t seem to notice, but Isabella’s crafty eyes did when she first saw it. Years ago.

She didn’t say anything at the time, thinking it was just a mere phase that JJ will eventually grow out of. But as time went on, the persona stitched a little too closely to home. Too close for Isabella’s comfort and she had to say something. The man she Loved was burying himself under a person that he wasn’t, and it took a long of chipping to eventually get JJ to notice that he had a problem.

After a very pregnant pause, JJ asked Isabella if she wanted to go to the aquarium. A change of scenery to ease their stress levels before taking a flight to New York. Isabella raised an eyebrow, but the sheer adorableness over JJ’s face was something that she hadn’t learned to ignore. Besides, they might run into a few familiar faces as the aquarium. A perfect chance for JJ to meet his fellow competitors and  _ maybe  _ make some friends. Isabella was hopeful for that. Hand in hand, the two Lovers flew out of the hotel with more dramatic flair than necessary and took the ten minute walk down the street towards the local aquarium.

The aquarium was a place of splendor. Not because admission tickets were expensive or anything, but a wealth of knowledge laid dormant in the organisms that swam in the tanks. Fishy bodies crawling with scales, adaptations, and generations of colorings that lit up any party. Yes, JJ knew what he was talking about, and Isabella listened because it was something  _ different.  _ It was something  _ special  _ to see someone talk about a hobby that they cherished, something that wasn’t music. And Isabella had to admit that she learned a thing or two from JJ’s babblings in three minutes than an hour-long lecture from one of her college classes.

Paying the admission fee, Isabella hovered over JJ’s shoulder as the enthusiastic omega followed his heart around the aquarium. Shimming blues from the overlooking tanks, rainbows splashed across the floors from the coral-life and the tropical fish, and grays occasionally swept over JJ and Isabella’s shadows when sharks or a lone manta ray swam over their heads.

“Look, Isabella!”

Isabella followed the sound of her fiance’s voice, watching the eager omega point at some fish. With a drop of the hat, he quickly named each fish and pointed at the ones that reminded him of Isabella. It was kind of corny, but Isabella hugged JJ from behind and pointed at an adorable fish, whispering, “That little guy reminds me of you.”

“It’s a girl.”

“Well,  _ you’re  _ beautiful just like her,” Isabella teased, tickling JJ’s neck while the latter tried to hold in his laughter. It was an endearing moment for them both. A time to relax and just be... _ them.  _ After watching the little tropical fish fondly, the two moved on and found watched a few crabs hold a showdown in the sand, clicking their pincers like comedic cowboys at the quick-draw. Trying to whip his phone out to snap a picture, JJ accidentally bumped into someone.

An aquarium pamphlet slid onto the floor. JJ reached down to grab it, then looking up when he saw who dropped it. A bold undercut followed with stylish sunglasses on his head. JJ would have to copy that-- _ Focus!  _ JJ told himself. Leather jacket and an overall very dark wardrobe choice...JJ was looking up to Otabek Altin,  _ The Darkhorse of Kazakhstan.  _ The famed cellist who said more puns than actual words.

Yes, JJ knew a thing or two about this low-string specimen.  _ Uh, that sounded bad. _ JJ knew a thing or about this  _ prodigal  _ cellist.  _ That also sounded bad.  _ JJ didn’t know what to think. What should he do? He should give the pamphlet back to Otabek. Maybe strike a conversation like... _ What was he doing at the aquarium.  _ No, that sounded like JJ had a bone to pick with the cellist. Not the direction he wanted to work with.

Isabella came to JJ’s rescue, giving the male vocalist enough strength to hand the pamphlet back and apologize. Everything was going to plan, or was there  _ really  _ a plan? Was JJ making this up as he went along? Probably.

“I’m Isabella.” Isabella shook Otabek’s hand, and the male omega kept a stone-expression. Was JJ a little threatened?  _ Yes _ . How could someone be so...Actually, JJ didn’t know what to call Otabek’s facial expression, but it was seriously weird that someone would be so  _ void  _ of emotion.

“JJ Leroy,” JJ mumbled between his teeth when he shook Otabek’s hand. Despite the scary expression over Otabek, his grip was surprisingly soft and JJ wanted to pull the cellist into a hug.  _ Too weird for a first encounter.  _ JJ had to restrain himself, but Otabek sensed what the other wanted and stretched his arms out so that JJ could hug him easier. JJ glanced at Isabella. Was this a dream? Isabella shook her head, smiling. Otabek, again, had his arms out. Ready for the embrace.

A quivering heart became whole again when JJ pulled Otabek into the hug, and the two musicians exchanged scents and became quick pals. Maybe it was because both of them were in heat and were out of whack with their homes. Isabella couldn’t tell, but it was very heartwarming to see JJ and Otabek pull down their guards to have this social interaction. Suddenly, it felt like Otabek was part of their party since the beginning. Hand in hand, JJ, Otabek, and Isabella frolicked through the aquarium like it was a date. JJ ran his mouth off, Otabek simply listened, and Isabella took quick selfies with her dates.

Eventually, Isabella came around and asked Otabek why he at the aquarium. As if someone turned the lights in his head, Otabek mentioned that he went with some people. JJ’s blood ran cold when he heard the names. The Russian trio, Russia’s platinum trinket, and the Nishigori and Katsuki duo. Otabek  _ sure  _ had connections, and JJ wasn’t ready to meet so many people.

“I have to go now,” Otabek told Isabell and JJ. He thanked them for showing him around the aquarium. Otabek had a sneaking feeling that a  _ certain  _ trio was retracing his footsteps. Wandering his way past tanks and blooming coral, the cellist took his sweet old time strolling under the archways when a shark or fish swam above him. Admiring the bellies of the marine life, sketching out the finer details and gills into his memories. The flickering hues shining down on him like opaque shadows. Shadows flushed with the serenity that music always gave him, but in a visual form.

Skipping along,  _ an extra spring in his step,  _ Otabek found himself stumbling into another scene. A lonelier one.  [ In a more secluded patch of tanks, Viktor stood next to a Swiss saxophonist,  _ Chris Giacometti.  _ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FwFJ2FLIWjU) Their backs towards Otabek while wandering eyes admired the fluttering manta rays. Crouched behind an information stand, Otabek bent down to tie his shoes but his ears heard everything. They didn’t mean to, but it was hard to ignore the minute details that echoed clearly against the tanks of glass.

The rustle of shoes, an uneasy balance between both feet before Chris spoke.

“I’m going to miss you.” The saxophonist clasped a hand over Viktor’s shoulder, shaking the pianist for all that he was worth. Viktor stood like a leaning pillar, only standing straighter from Chris’ comforting touch. “Take care of the Youngbloods for me.”

Viktor wrapped a good arm around Chris’ shoulder in return. “You really shouldn’t call them that. They’re not young anymore.”

“Not as old like you and me.” Chris winked.

Just a pure reunion with two old pals and competitors. Nothing to worry about, but the atmosphere didn’t reflect that. Otabek’s chest fell when he saw what stood next to Chris. A little oxygen tank, propped up on wheels with tubes curling out from the top. Snaking up like tendrils, all the way up to Chris’ face. Chris’ firm hand at the handle that made wheeling the tank easier. A saxophone case sling over Chris’ shoulder in a crooked way.

Viktor couldn’t get over that, couldn’t get over  _ this.  _ If Viktor was crying, Chris shushed softly in his friend’s ear. Otabek knew he had to be hidden, but he extended his neck to look. Never once had he ever seen Viktor cry. Nobody had ever seen Viktor cry, _ except for now. _

Not like those passionate and emotional cries with snot running down the nose. Not like those words that slurred over uncooperative vocal chords.

Viktor’s crying was detached. Tears spilling down his cheeks, but his lips were frozen in thought. Eyes wide for a moment, to take in the weight of the situation. Before narrowing, a waterfall trickling down. Limp arms and hands at his side, tears dripped onto Viktor and Chris’ shoes and onto the floor. Chris embraced his friend. No tears from him, but Chris’ crying tank was already empty. Been empty for a long time.

“I’m sick.”

Viktor didn’t say anything.

“I couldn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry.”

Viktor gripped the front of Chris’ shirt.

“You were so happy that I didn’t want to break it. You needed me, so I was always here to listen.” Chris brushed Viktor’s bangs to the side so that he could see his friend better. “I’m proud of how far you’ve gone. Now, it’s time for you to tell your heart to beat again.” A hand at Viktor’s chest before Chris had to let go.

_ “Does anyone else know?” _

Chris hesitated. Otabek slowly hid himself behind the information stand again. Viktor and Chris didn’t notice him yet, and he didn’t want to imagine their reactions  _ if  _ they find out. He wished he didn’t hear anything, but it was too late for that. If this was a way for Otabek to know more about his duet partner, then maybe... _ Maybe Otabek would know a way to help Viktor be true to himself.  _ A fractured light bulb flickered above the cellist’s hand. Cracked at best. He would never fulfill the same comfort as Chris, but Otabek had his own brand of comfort. Just...He never had the chance to show it.  _ Yet _ .

“Someone else knows,” Chris finally said, hint of a grin over his lips. Viktor playfully slapped the saxophonist’s cheek.

“Do I know this person?”

“You  _ want  _ to know this person.”

Loading dots hovered over Viktor’s head before Chris pulled a light bulb over his friend’s head and turned it on. Suddenly, Viktor knew. Otabek knew, and it was long before Chris turned on the light bulb.

Wait, so yesterday...Was Yuuri looking for Chris  _ instead  _ of Viktor? If Yuuri knew about Chris’ failing health, it would make sense that he’d be concerned. Maybe that was why Yuuri was detached and sullen while performing. Not because he couldn’t find Viktor, but because he couldn’t find a dear pal that was too ill to join the performances. This changed the script for Otabek, and he came to respect Yuuri more than he originally thought. For Viktor, you couldn’t blame him for misunderstanding. Yuuri must’ve known that Chris was quite close to Viktor, and he was sullen for Viktor’s sake since the alpha didn’t know until now.

The complexity of communication was complex, in Otabek’s humble opinion. Hearing enough, Otabek retired from his spot and ventured onwards. Milling around the aquarium got a bit boring after awhile and with the mystery solved, there was no need to worry about the relationship between Yuuri and Viktor anymore, except…

A single snap later and Otabek realized that he wandered so far that he was back at the Sydney Opera House. The cellist blinked, wondering why his life suddenly turned into a sitcom. What was his role now? Right now, Otabek wasn’t the person lurking in the shadows. Front in center-- _ not onstage, but in the middle of a row-- _ Otabek stood behind Viktor like a hitman while Takeshi stood behind Yuuri. Viktor and Yuuri faced each other.

Was this... _ a confrontation?  _ Otabek wore the most neutral face he had.

“Do I really have to be a witness?” Takeshi crossed his arms.

“Yuuri and I both need a witness in case we stray from who we are.” Viktor pulled back his bangs so that Takeshi and Yuuri could see both of his eyes.

“So dramatic.” Takeshi rolled his eyes, but he stood strongly behind Yuuri. Otabek did the same for Viktor.

Before Viktor could unfurl the elaborate speech he had simmered in his mind, Yuuri broke in first.

[ “I don’t know what I mean to you, but I’m not as doublehanded as you might think.” ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g1C3RW1ztvc)

Takeshi squeaked, staring at Yuuri as if he never noticed him before. Viktor was at a loss of words, and Otabek seriously wondered where this conversation was going to go if  _ that  _ was the first statement.

Yuuri grew a little braver. “W-Words aren’t my strong point, but I try my best.” Voice strained, Yuuri tried to summon some sort of strength to help him follow through. There were so many things he wanted to say, but the words were lost to him. He could easily sign everything, but Yuuri didn’t want to use those signs. He wanted to use words. For the first time, he wished he knew more words. “I know I’m not strong and still working on these words.” His voice grew stronger. “I can’t say that these feelings in my heart are Love, but I hold a very strong feeling for you.”

“Yuuri, if being Lovers feels uncomfortable, we don’t have to be.” Viktor had to stay where he was, but he extended a hand longingly towards Yuuri. “We can be brothers or even friends for right now, and it won’t hurt me. I just want you to be you, and I’ll strive to always be me.”

Otabek and Takeshi exchanged awkward glances but understood their purpose for being here. Any blooming relationship, no matter how big or small, wasn’t just between two parties. It was a group effort with many involved, and sometimes you needed a wingman to help pull you back onto the tracks.

With two stubborn fools,  _ one from the East and one setting in the West,  _ it took a little persuasion before one could give his heart away to the madness. Viktor already had his heart in the cauldron, bubbling and swirling away from a drunken night that left him a pink mark to always remember. Yuuri’s heart still behind strong walls, chirping and fluttering behind its cage. The violist was growing a little stronger, a little braver. Enough where he could bridge the wide gap between him and Viktor with his arm and hold onto the pianist before everything ran away.

What did the pianist mean to him? Yuuri didn’t know. His childhood wish was to meet Viktor in person and play a duet with him one day, and perhaps it was a farfetched dream but the puzzle pieces were becoming a reality before Yuuri’s eyes. Viktor was close enough for him to touch, and the pianist wasn’t a fragile piece of glass. No, but a throbbing and living heart that showed more skin and anxiety than Yuuri would ever imagine. The lapse in communication between them both made one lose his way while the other was left wondering what happened.

Yuuri didn’t want that to happen.

This fear that Viktor would one day abandon Yuuri could easily be true if you switched the order of the names. This fear that  _ Yuuri  _ would one day abandon  _ Viktor.  _ Even though Viktor was new with Love, he had a strong desire to keep the candle between him and Yuuri burning. Yuuri was the stark contrast, knowing what was between them but doubting that it would ever happen. Because deep down in his heart, Yuuri admitted to himself that VIktor would want an omega or an alpha than someone like  _ him. _

“Even if you were an omega or an alpha--” Viktor approached Yuuri. The latter wasn’t looking at him, but Viktor spoke anyway. He had to get these words off his chest, and Takeshi was here to bear witness for Yuuri. “Dynamics will never stop me from Loving you.”

Did Yuuri want to hold his hand? Viktor held it out for the violist to take if he wanted to. Instead of pushing Yuuri’s chin up to meet him as equals, Viktor bent his knees. He lowered himself to meet Yuuri’s gaze, and the violist rushed an apology but Viktor shook his head. Did Yuuri want to hold his hand?  _ Yes _ , Yuuri held Viktor’s hand and right now, the violist needed to know the full intentions behind Viktor’s affections.

Treasuring Yuuri’s hold, Viktor kissed the back of Yuuri’s hand. Migrating down to kiss each bandaged finger, giving each the same amount of Love that he held for Yuuri.

“Whenever it gets dark, you lighten up so that I can find my way again.” VIktor ran a hand through his own hair. Cheesy smile highlighting his lips when he looked up to Yuuri. “You and Chris were always there for me when I felt lonely and when I got to see one of you, I realized that I wasn’t alone anymore. So whenever you feel alone, look around you because a lot of people support you. Your family, your friends, and maybe me if you want me to be there too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tired of a story that updates once a week? Wondering if Joey [that's me!] is alive? Want to read something cute and fluffy, without the feelz and the WTH moments that Joey puts in this ongoing story?
> 
> If you answered "yes" to one of the above, check out Joey's newest story "What Lies Beneath Our Feet"  
> It's a slice of life/farm story about an ex-battery chicken [Yuuri Katsuki] and his journey in becoming a happy farm animal. You don't need to know much about farming to follow this adorable story, and Joey is consistent in his daily updates. A casual read after all the chaos, drama, and murder that the YoI AO3 page is notorious for.
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> Sorry for that. I wanted to self-promote a fic I'm working on. It's cute and you get to see awkward chicken!Yuuri bobbing his head as he walks down a gravel road. Done with Sydney, now I can move on. This arc had to be the longest because it of character introductions and whatnot, but now I can streamline. Need to find an efficient way of doing this stuff.
> 
> That's the downfall for this fic. There's a lot of build up and setting that I have to do, but now that Viktor and Yuuri have an idea of what their relationship is, it's a lot easier from here to get to the ending~
> 
> Thanks for reading, kudosing, sharing, commenting, and other things!


	19. HQ is back to give this story the proper storyline and ending it deserves

I've come to that point in my life where I want to give a proper closure to things before turning my head away forever. This summer has been crazy for me. I've had to break a relationship with someone that I cherish, and I've been recovering for the most part. Trying to understand what I can do with my writing, and how I can try to help others be happy because of it. It's true. I haven't been in a good mindset for a long time, and I actually started this story because I was at the lowest point of my life this year.

I'm quite hesitant with writing anything for YoI because I've had a rough history with the fandom, but I'm willing to update the stories that I have so that I can move on in peace. As a storyteller, I find it best to complete what you have before starting off fresh. So, that's what I've decided to do. I'll be going back through the story, proofreading and editing to make this story easier on the eyes. And right now, all I want to do is give this story the plotline and the ending that it well-deserves. I'll still tackle a lot of topics about A/B/O, but I want this story to have a general direction. You know?

After a long hiatus, I think it's time to pick this story back up for good-use. Besides, I started this story because I wanted to see Viktor play the piano at his own wedding. I want his dream to come true.


End file.
